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LITTLE MISS AMY DESCENDED THE GREA'I\ STAIRCASE. 


{See page 139.) 




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7 ^ 





COPYIilGHT, 1894, 

BY 

Lothrop Publishing Company. 

All rights reserved. 


..T* <vr 




CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 


CHAPTER 

I. . 



. 

. 


. 

. 

I 

CHAPTER 

IL 








19 

CHAPTER 

III. 








38 

CHAPTER 

IV. 








59 

CHAPTER 

V. . 








80 

CHAPTER 

VI. 








100 

CHAPTER 

VII. 








121 

CHAPTER 

VIII. . 








135 

CHAPTER 

IX. 








150 

CHAPTER 

X. 








164 

CHAPTER 

XI. 








181 

CHAPTER 

XIL 








196 

CHAPTER 

XIIL . 








209 

CHAPTER 

XIV. . 








218 

CHAPTER 

XV. 








246 

CHAPTER 

XVI. . 








259 

CHAPTER 

XVII. . 








272 











LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. 


Little Miss Amy descended the Great Staircase ...... Frontis. 

Harry entered, leading a Little Girl by the hand 39 

She began to smell Rose after Rose ......... 61 

“ Yon are a Bad Old Man ” opposite 84 

7 'he Child scowlingly watched Miss Melissa to see what she wotdd say ... 95 

When She and Miss Melissa had cotcnted every cent, there was far too little . 235 

She found out that they both liked Buttermilk 291 


3:Mj| 

















I. 

Miss Melissa sat with her knitting in her 
hands. The needles clicked monotonously, in the 
quiet room. There was nothing for Miss Melissa 
to do but to sit alone and knit and think. The 
house in which she lived with her old bachelor 
brother had, years ago, been reduced to such a 
state of order and system that every servant 
had his or her exactly appointed task, and Miss 
Melissa’s superintendence of things occupied but 
a few hours every day. She liked to knit, though 
sometimes she got tired of the monotony of it. 
She only sighed, however, and said nothing. It 
had one great recommendation; she could knit 


2 


THE CHILD AMY, 


and think at the same time, and she had a great 
deal to think about. 

She sat in her rocking-chair in the large, well- 
kept, comfortable sitting-room of the old country- 
‘house. The bright light of the summer day was 
partially shut out by the bowed window blinds 
that offered, however, no obstacle to the songs of 
the birds outside. It was plain from the expres- 
sion of her kind old face that she was thinking 
of something that troubled her. Two or three 
times as she began a new row on her stocking, 
fitting the polished needle into the old-fashioned 
knitting-sheath pinned at her side, she breathed a 
brief, half-stifled sigh. 

When the door opened presently, and an old 
servant-woman put her head in. Miss Melissa 
looked up, and said rather anxiously : 

“What is it, Martha?” 

It was unusual for Martha to come to her at 
this hour, and she had seen, moreover, on the 
servant’s face a look of half-frightened excitement. 

“ Somebody wants to see you,” she said. 

“ Somebody ? Who ? ” 


THE CHILD AMY, 


The old woman came nearer, and after looking 
around the room timidly, said, with an air of 
mystery : 

“It’s” — she did not utter the name, but con- 
veyed it to the consciousness of her mistress by 
a significant nod of the head. 

“No, no; it can’t be! He wouldn’t dare! He 
wouldn’t be so foolish ! Oh ! if Thomas were here 
what would become of us? Where is he, Martha? 
You don’t mean that the boy has actually come * 
to this house ? ” 

“ He’s down at the barn ; but he says he’s not 
going away without seeing you. He says if you 
won’t come there to see him, he’ll come up to the 
house and see you.” 

“ O, poor boy ! he must be in some awful 
trouble to say that. I suppose he has repented 
at last; but it’s too late. His uncle has said he 
never would forgive him, and I’m afraid he 
never will.” She had got up from her seat and 
put down her knitting in a disordered state, 
most unnatural to her. “ Don’t let him come to 
the house,” she said. “Go tell him I’m coming.” 


4 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“Never mind, Martha,” said a boys voice 
behind her; “I don’t like skulking about at the 
barn. I’m not afraid. I have a right to speak 
to my aunt, and I will speak to her — unless she 
refuses.” 

He stepped just within the room, and stood 
still. There was not much indication of a peni- 
tent, come to sue for pardon, in this boy’s face. 
He had taken off his soft cap, and held it crushed 
under his right hand, as he stood with his arms 
akimbo and his hands on his hips, and looked 
at his aunt with defiance, struggling with some 
gentler feeling in his glance. 

“ O, Harry ! ” the old woman exclaimed, going 
toward him, “what made you come here? Your 
uncle would be so angry.” 

“ I didn’t come to see my uncle,” the boy 
said, shaking backward his curly head. He had 
accepted his aunt’s kiss, but it was evident that 
her words had embittered it. “ I’ve got nothing 
to ask of my uncle, and he don’t want to keep me 
out of his sight any more than I want to keep 
him out of mine. If he thinks I am going to 


THE CHILD AMY. 


5 


cringe to him and ask his forgiveness, for the 
sake of getting his miserable, dirty money, 
which he's made by grinding other people, he’s 
mistaken.” 

“ O, Harry, Harry, hush! It’s wicked to talk 
about your uncle so. Suppose he should hear 
you !” 

“ I wish he could. I wish I could make him 
listen to what I think of him. Perhaps it is 
wicked ; I’ve been told I was wicked, and bad, and 
ungrateful often enough to make me believe it. 
I’m sure. I used to be sorry and wish I could be 
better, but now I don’t care. I never care, except 
when I think of you. That was what made me 
run away; I wanted to rid your eyes forever of 
the disgrace of having such a nephew. I never 
expected to come back. I hoped you would think 
I was dead. I was dead, as far as you were con- 
cerned; and you never would have seen me again, 
but for what has happened now.” 

“ Oh ! I can’t be anything but glad that you’ve 
come,” said Miss Melissa, wiping her eyes. “ I’ve 
cried, and prayed, and longed for you every day 


6 


THE CHILD AMY, 


that’s passed. Your uncle won’t let your name be 
mentioned in the house, but I never have stopped 
hoping that if you’d beg his pardon, and show 
him you were sorry for what you’d done, and 
that you’d found out what it was to give up your 
comfortable home ” — 

“Found out what it was! So I have!” ex- 
claimed the boy, with a rebellious light in his 
eyes. “ I’ve found a life that suits me better. A 
life where I am free, and where I can go to the 
devil my own way, as freely and as surely as he 
is going to the devil in his own way.” 

“ O, Harry! how can you speak so?” said 
Miss Melissa, in a horror-struck tone. She had 
the habit, shared by many good people, of treating 
the devil’s name with as much awe as if it had 
been God’s, so the language shocked her as much 
as the sentiment. 

“ Oh ! I don’t care,” said the boy impatiently. 
“At least. I’m not a hypocrite; so I’m that much 
better than he is, the old” — He checked himself 
at the look of distress on his aunt’s face, and said, 
with a sudden change of tone: “ Now, Auntie, 


THE CHILD AMY. 


7 


youVe got to be brave. I know you’re naturally 
timid, and all that, but you’ve simply got to get 
the better of it now. I’ve already said I have not 
come here to ask any favor for myself, but I have 
for some one else.” 

“ I’d do anything on earth I could to please 
you, Harry, but your uncle” — 

“Oh! bother my uncle ; he ain’t in it. Leave 
him out, please, if you expect me to be decent in 
my language or anything else. Sit down and 
listen to what I’ve got to tell you.” He flung 
his cap on the table and himself into a chair, with 
a boldness and ease that made Miss Melissa trem- 
ble. The old servant, who had staid out of curi- 
osity up to this time, made a feint of going. 
“No, you stay, Martha. You’ve got your part to 
do, too. Now listen.” 

Miss Melissa had seated herself, and automati- 
cally reached for her knitting. She held it idly 
in her hands, however, as she looked at the boy, 
with a frightened expectancy. 

“ Since I went away from here, six months 
ago,” he began, “ I’ve been making my living on 


8 


THE CHILD AMY. 


the water, and I’ve just got back from a long 
cruise in a sailing-vessel. We had some pretty 
rough times, and were out in four terrible storms. 
I believed I was going to be drowned. Auntie, and 
you were the one I thought of. I was glad you’d 
never know about it, and I wished I had been 
better to you.” His face grew suddenly quite 
tender, but when he saw the tears rise to his 
aunt’s eyes, he felt such a fear of giving way to 
weakness himself, that he cleared his throat and 
went on in a resolute, energetic tone : “ One night, 
when the storm was over and the moon had come 
out, I was on deck and I saw something bouncing 
about on the big waves. I called two or three 
of the sailors to look at it. They thought it 
was only some empty box or barrel that had been 
thrown overboard by a passing vessel ; but, even 
before I could make anything out, I had a feeling 
that it was not. I felt that there was something 
alive there, and straining my ears, I thought I 
heard a little cry or moan. I got the others to 
listen, but they laughed at me. I declared I 
could see something like a tiny, human figure; 


THE CHILD AMY. 


9 


they laughed still more. The thing was drifting 
farther away. Suddenly I heard plainly a faint 
cry. I turned about triumphantly, thinking they 
had all heard it ; but no one had. I knew I was 
not mistaken, however, and ran to the captain, 
who liked me, and begged him to stop. At first 
he refused ; but I begged so hard he agreed. 
Then I ran out on deck and asked who would 
put out with me in a little boat ; they burst out 
laughing at me. 

“ I was in an awful hurry, because the thing I 
still saw was farther away, and I no longer heard 
any sound. I said I would go by myself, and 
then an old sailor offered to go with me. There 
was not much danger. The moon was shining 
and the wind had gone down, but the waves were 
very big. We lowered the little boat and got in. 
The old man and I took the oars and rowed hard, 
but the waves were so high that we lost sight 
of the floating object, over and over again. It 
seemed always going away from us. The lights of 
the vessel got very far off. Sometimes we could 
not see the red and green ones hung low, but only 


10 


THE CHILD AMY. 


the white one high up on the mast. It was awful 
work; and the old man with me was about to 
give up when, rising to the top of a wave, we 
found ourselves nearer to the object than we had 
been yet, and a low cry reached us. We both 
heard it this time. We didn’t speak, though ; we 
only pulled away for life. We soon began to 
gain on it fast, and could see now in the moon- 
light the figure of a child in a dark dress, lashed 
to a mattress. When we were quite near the 
cry came to us again, and I sent back a shout. 

“In a few moments more we were almost 
within reach, but the waves tossed and played 
with the light mattress so that I was afraid that 
the child would be drowned before our eyes. At 
last I caught hold of it and drew it close to the 
boat. A little girl, with tangled, curly hair falling 
all around her white, wet face, was tied securely 
to the mattress. We had trouble to cut her loose, 
for there were two large life-preservers fastened 
to her, too. At last we got the last string cut, 
and I dragged her into the boat. I didn’t know 
whether she was conscious or not, but I spoke to 


THE CHILD AMY, 


11 


her and tried to encourage her as I put her down 
at my feet in the bottom of the boat. I was 
obliged then to take hold of the oars, but I said 
all I could think of to comfort her, and told her 
she was safe, and that I would take her home. 
She crept between my knees, and put her arms 
around my waist, and her little head on my breast. 
I could feel her hugging me and sobbing while I 
was bending over her to handle the oars, but I 
took pains not to hurt her. 

When we got to the side of the boat all 
hands were waiting for us, anxious to help. The 
child had apparently fainted, and they thought 
she was dead ; but I knew she was not. I carried 
her in my arms to the captain’s own room, and as 
I was going to lay her on the bed she opened her 
eyes and looked at me ; then she shut them again 
and seemed to faint away. But after that look 
she never forgot me, and always knew me from all 
the rest. They all did what they could for her, 
but she said I was the one that had saved her; 
and she never wanted me to be out of her sight. 
That was four days ago.” 


12 


THE CHILD AMY. 


'' Where is she ? ” said his aunt. Both women 
were absorbed. 

“ At the fisherman’s house, where I took her 
when we landed last night. I told her I would 
come back for her this afternoon and bring her 
to my aunt, who would love her and take care 
of her.” 

At this bold statement Miss Melissa started. 
Martha, also, turned toward him a face of blank 
dismay. 

“But your uncle!” cried the old lady. “He 
may be back in a few days, and he will never 
allow it.” 

“ Don’t ask him. By the time he comes the 
child will be here, and there will be nowhere to 
send her to. I do not mean her to be dependent 
on him ! ” with an accent of angry contempt. 
“You can say that the rough, common sailor who 
rescued her will provide, weekly, enough money 
to pay her board. I will see that that is done. 
But be sure that my name is not mentioned in 
connection with the thing ; that would be enough 
to make him cast the child off.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


13 


Miss Melissa knew too well that this was 
true, so she and Martha agreed to keep secret his 
connection with the matter. 

“ I never would have brought her to his house, 
if the thing could have been avoided,” said Harry. 
“ By paying for it she could have been taken care 
of somewhere else ; but it is more than food and 
shelter that she wants. She is a little lady, and 
she must have a lady to look after her. I think 
she would die among the people I have left her 
with to-day.” 

“ Does she know that her father and mother 
are probably drowned ? ” 

“Yes; I think she understands it perfectly. 
She remembers her father kissing her and sink- 
ing back in the water after he had held on to 
her mattress awhile. She says her mother was 
knocked down by something and fell into the 
water while her father was tying her to the 
mattress, and they never saw her again. She 
remembers it all; and what we have got to do is 
to try to make her forget it.” 

“ How old is she ? ” 


14 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ Six years ; she says that the Sunday they 
spent on the sea was her birthday.” 

“And does she cry for them?” 

The boy got up and turned off toward the 
window. 

“ I want you to hear her once,” he said ; “ that’s 
why I concluded to bring her to you. I knew if 
you only saw her once, when she has those spells 
of crying, you’d never turn her away. If I get 
her here you’ll keep her.” 

“ I’d love to keep her, any way,” the old lady 
said; “but, Harry, I know it won’t be possible. I 
know your uncle will never allow it.” 

He turned around and came toward her with 
slow, deliberate steps. He was a lad of fifteen, 
but his manner now was that of a resolute man. 

“Aunt Melissa,” he said sternly, “you can 
make your choice : you can either take this child 
under your care to-day, and promise me to keep 
her until your brother comes, and then do your 
very best to keep her still, explaining,” he added 
scornfully, “that all her expenses will be paid, and 
that any trouble she may give will be yours and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


15 


not his ; or,” he added, looking her steadily in the 
eyes, “ you see me go away from you to-day for- 
ever. I made up my mind long ago, never to 
see my uncle again, if I could help it ; and if you 
hesitate now to do what I ask, I will never see 
you either, so help me God.” His stern look 
terrified her. 

“ I will do what I can,” she said tremblingly. 

“ I only ask you to let her come. Afterwards, 
you can decide about the future.” 

There was balm in these words for a timid mind 
like Miss Melissa’s. The opportunity to tempo- 
rize was exactly what she wanted. It would be, 
perhaps, a week more before her dreaded brother’s 
return from a prolonged business trip, and in that 
time she could make up her mind. So she gave 
up utterly, and said : 

‘'Go and bring her, Harry. I will do all I can 
to comfort the little orphan thing.” 

The boy’s face softened. “ I knew you would,” 
he said ; and he went and kissed her affectionately. 

“And you, too, Martha?” he said. “You were 
good to me when I was a troublesome little child. 


16 


THE CHILD AMY. 


Perhaps this child will turn out differently, and 
repay you for your kindness/’ 

Old Martha was deeply touched by these hum- 
ble words from the reckless, defiant boy, and gave 
the promise he exacted with willingness. 

“When will you bring her?” said Miss Melissa. 
“ At once. I promised her she should not 
spend another night in that wretched place.” 

The place was of a sort that he was himself 
accustomed to, in his present mode of life, and he 
had no other thought in taking the child there 
than that of establishing her with the fishing-folks 
amongst whom he lived. But he had not watched 
her for one hour among such surroundings before 
he saw that the thing was impossible. He could 
accommodate himself to these rough ways, but 
not she. She looked no more at home there than 
if she had been a bird which had flown in at the 
window and alighted for a moment, and at the 
least sound or shock would be up and away. 
Then he made up his mind he must apply to his 
aunt, and had puzzled over the matter until he had 
made it appear feasible. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


17 


When he got back to the little hut on the 
beach, where he had left his charge, a surprise 
awaited him. The fishermans wife, a rough, 
noisy young woman who had frightened the timid 
child at first, had shown herself, afterwards, much 
touched by the little creature’s misfortunes, and 
had even made some efforts to prove it. But the 
child, seeming to recognize in her rescuer in the 
past, her protector for the future, had clung so 
resolutely to Harry that she seemed to see and 
notice no one else. He had left her asleep when 
he had gone away in the morning, and now, in 
going back, he hurried all he could, for fear that 
in waking she would have missed him and been 
inconsolable for his absence. 

When he pushed open the door of the poor 
little house and entered, the woman was sitting in 
a low chair, with the little child on her lap. The 
older face was bronzed and weather-beaten, and 
far from beautiful to see. The other was fair and 
delicate, with a great mass of shining gold curls 
that clustered around her cheeks. The little white 
hands were clasped about the woman’s sunburnt 


18 


THE CHILD AMY. 


throat, and the two cheeks rested against each 
other. Two pairs of eyes looked up at him as he 
entered ; one pair small and dark and unintel- 
lectual, the other large and blue and full of an 
intelligent consciousness; but both had love in 
them, and the boy knew that it was this that had 
established a kinship between the pair, incongru- 
ous as they seemed. 

The child had waked crying, and had called 
eagerly for Harry, whose name was already 
familiar to her lips. Finding him gone, she had 
been frightened and had fallen into a fit of sob- 
bing. The woman had gone to her to try to give 
her comfort, and the paroxysm had spent itself on 
her kind breast. 

Harry foresaw that the fisherman’s wife would 
not give her up without regret, but in talking that 
morning together, she had agreed with him that 
this child was not fur the likes o’ we,” as she 
expressed it. She was, therefore, heartily and 
unselfishly glad when the boy told her that his 
mission had succeeded. 


II. 

Miss Melissa and Martha were a frightened 
pair as they went about their preparations for the 
child’s reception. Old Mr. Arnold was a man 
much dreaded, both in his own household and 
beyond it. He had been for many years engaged 
in business in the town near which his fine old 
country residence was situated, and he had accu- 
mulated quite a good fortune. He was said to be 
a merciless creditor, and close and penurious in all 
his dealings. He believed himself to be one of 
the most upright of men, and the unpardonable 
sin that his nephew had committed was that he 
had refused to follow in the footsteps of so worthy 
an example. If the boy, who had neither father 
nor mother, had walked obediently and unques- 
tioningly in the path marked out for him by his 
uncle, the old man would have felt great pride 


19 


20 


THE CHILD AMY. 


in him ; would have indoctrinated him into the 
methods by which he, himself, had been so suc- 
cessful, and would have left the boy his whole 
fortune. He had begun by being extremely fond 
of the child, but as the latter got older, he showed 
great self-will and impulsiveness of disposition, 
and the uncle found himself conscientiously bound 
to whip him a great deal, and to act toward him, 
at all times, with great severity. An estrange- 
ment sprang up between them, which, in spite of 
Miss Melissa’s efforts to mediate, strengthened 
and ripened with years, and had finally ended by 
the lad’s running away from school, under circum- 
stances which confirmed his uncle in his belief 
that he was a bad, incorrigible boy, of whom it 
was more than useless to expect anything. The 
circumstances were these : 

When Mr. Arnold, wishing to break the boy’s 
defiant spirit, was looking for a school at which to 
put him, the establishment of a certain Dr. Martin 
was highly recommended to him, as a place where 
vigorous discipline was associated with correct 
religious training. He took the pains to travel 


THE CHILD AMY, 


21 


to the place, to confer with Dr. Martin, feeling 
that he was doing a very praiseworthy act in 
giving up two whole days of his important time 
to this matter. He found the experienced doctor s 
views so in accordance with his own, that he re- 
turned in a state of great satisfaction, and Harry 
was promptly sent off to the school. Not, how- 
ever, before the boy had been compelled to listen 
to an exordium which almost drove him frantic. 
The high moral stand which was taken by his 
uncle, and the implied reference to himself as the 
standard of virtue and excellence was almost more 
than the boy could bear — much more than he 
could bear meekly — and he showed a spirit of 
indifference and only half-concealed rebelliousness 
during the interview, which caused his uncle to 
send him off with a letter to the new teacher, 
exhorting him to spare no effort of either physical 
or moral suasion to conquer this obdurate heart. 

The consequence was that Harry began his 
school-life with a reputation which was quietly 
passed from teachers to pupils, of being an unusu- 
ally difficult case. The behest of his uncle was 


22 


THE CHILD AMY. 


conscientiously regarded. It was one of the 
boasts of Dr. Martin’s school that ninety per 
cent, of the boys educated there made what was 
called “ a profession of religion ” before leaving. 
The utmost pains was taken not to break this 
record, and the path of the rebellious was made so 
hard, and that of the submissive so easy, that 
Harry, after some months of fluctuation, went with 
the majority. He allowed himself to be prayed 
over, in public and private, assented to all the asser- 
tions of his own depravity, and was soon reported 
to his uncle as being under conviction.” Then 
his path became more easy. He was allowed 
privileges, hitherto withheld ; the teachers and 
authorities of the school looked upon him kindly ; 
he had smiles and pleasant words from everyone, 
as well as the more substantial benefits of nice 
tit-bits at table, and excuses from lessons, and the 
accounts sent home about him were of the most 
encouraging character. 

The boy was not wholly hypocritical in what 
he did. It was quite true that he believed himself 
a miserable sinner, in need of help. He had been 


THE CHILD AMY. 


23 


told that so long, that it had become one of the 
foremost of his convictions concerning himself. 
But, somehow, the state of grace into which he 
was assured by Dr. Martin that he had entered, 
failed to make him feel any better. He felt un- 
consciously degraded by the rewards he received 
for his conformity, and perhaps knew in his heart 
that it was for the sake of these that he had con- 
formed. He felt himself a worse boy for being 
good, from such a motive, than he had felt in 
open rebellion and insubordination. It was easy 
to drift with the stream, however, and the weapons 
for moral warfare that were within his reach were 
extremely feeble at that time, so he went with the 
majority, and for a long time was ranked with the 
good boys. At last, the great day came when 
Dr. Martin’s school was marched to church one 
Sunday, in order that the large proportion who 
had “ professed religion,” might go forward in the 
eyes of the great congregation assembled, and be 
received into the visible church. As a prelude to 
this ceremony, however, there was a sermon on 
the subject of the horrors of hell, intended to incite 


24 


THE CHILD AMY. 


the repentance of the rebellious and the self-gratu- 
lation of the conforming. 

Harry Arnold listened to this sermon with 
feelings of intense agitation. Thought and con- 
viction had played but a small part in what was 
termed his conversion ; but now, for the first time, 
he began to think, and he knew that any profes- 
sion of love and service to a Being who seemed to 
him so monstrous and cruel as the God whom the 
preacher described would be the blackest false- 
hood. His heart swelled with protest; his eyes 
flashed indignation ; and when, at the close of the 
sermon, the boys, led by Dr. Martin, got up to go 
forward to the chancel, Harry alone, of the large 
number who had been placed conveniently in the 
front ranks for this purpose, kept his seat. His 
face was scarlet, his eyes flashing, and he had 
folded his arms tight across his breast, in an 
attitude unconsciously impressive. The terrible 
eye of Dr. Martin was upon him, but he met 
it boldly, with a firm shake of the head. A 
breathless suspense followed. The other boys, in 
orderly pairs, had gone forward, and the minister 


THE CHILD AMY. 


25 


and congregation waited. Dr. Martin made his 
way along the empty bench to where he sat and 
spoke to him sternly, telling him to come. His 
answer was firm in utterance, though low in tone : 

“ I am not going.” 

“ Are you ill ? Do you want me to say you 
will postpone it until next time?” 

“No; I am not ill at all. I am never going, at 
any time.” 

There was no use to argue with a tone and 
expression like that, and the delay was only mak- 
ing matters worse. Dr. Martin turned his back 
upon him, went forward to the chancel and noti- 
fied the ofhciating minister that the service might 
proceed. As it began, all eyes were turned, not 
upon the ceremony that was going on in front, 
but upon the flushed, defiant face of the lad who 
sat isolated from the crowd around, by large 
spaces of empty seats before, behind, and at each 
side of him. 

His first thought had been escape. He had 
intended, as soon as Dr. Martin should be gone, 
to leave the church, but it now seemed to him 


26 


THE CHILD AMY, 


that that would be cowardly. He would stay 
and brave it out. Strange to say, as he sat there 
removed from contact with his fellow-creatures, 
like a poor outcast quarantined for some loath- 
some physical disease, he felt a thrill of triumph- 
ant self-approbation, such as he had never known 
before. It could not be his conscience that 
applauded him. By all known rules, that should 
have been his severest arraigner now. Whatever 
it was, he felt its comfort to be sweet, and its 
support sufficient. He was a handsome lad, with 
the strong figure, rich dark skin and curly hair, 
that, in a boy of his age, make such a winning 
impression; and now^, with the heightened bril- 
liancy of cheeks and eyes, he looked his very best. 
Many a tender woman’s eye was turned upon him 
pityingly, thinking how sad it was to see, in one so 
young and charming, so strong a tendency to sin 
and evil. 

Harry held his head well up, and his eyes wide 
open and fearless, as he marched out of church 
after the services were over. The orderly and 
soldier-like marching of the boys was a subject of 


THE CHILD AMY. 


27 


great pride in the school ; and now, as they fell 
into ranks, two and two, Harry’s cheeks tingled as 
he found himself alone. Dr. Martin had called 
the boy with whom he had marched to church to 
his own side, and so Harry was without a com- 
panion. As soon as he understood that this had 
been done designedly, he went forward, outwardly 
unmoved, keeping time as carefully as possible, 
and appearing not to notice that a little interval 
had been made between himself and the ranks of 
boys ahead, and those behind him. This made it 
more difficult to keep time, but it made apparent 
his soldierly carriage and excellent movement. 
He was taller than most of the boys, and this fact 
added to the conspicuousness forced upon him. 
He would have been glad to avoid it, but he had 
no notion of flinching or showing weakness of any 
sort. If he was to be held up as a bad boy, they 
might hate him all they chose, but they should 
not pity him. He felt that he still had the power 
to command the respect always given to courage, 
and it took courage to go through with the ordeal 
he had entered into now. 


28 


THE CHILD AMY. 


That ordeal by no means ended here. He 
waited to see what his punishment was to be. It 
came in a peculiarly trying form. He could have 
braced himself to stand a flogging. He could 
easily have his food cut off, or his privileges of 
recreation curtailed. But his trial was to be a 
severer thing than any of these. It was to take 
the form of what had already stung him so — to 
put him in the place of a pariah, whom no one 
was allowed to approach. He had the same food 
as the others, but he had to eat it at a table apart. 
He might come into the playground, but no boy 
was allowed to speak to him. Even at prayers he 
had a chair placed for him away from the rest. 

It was intensely mortifying, but he found that 
a certain sense of satisfaction could be got out of 
it, by enduring it well. He knew that any insub- 
ordination against the rules that were laid upon 
him would be a source of satisfaction to his 
teachers, and would afford them a desired oppor- 
tunity of imposing further punishment upon him. 
He resolved not to give them this satisfaction. 
It was that motive, and no higher one, that 


THE CHILD AMY. 


29 


caused him to accept his punishment without 
remonstrance. 

One supreme source of pride he possessed in 
the fact that his place at the head of the class, in 
all the branches of mathematics, was unimpeach- 
able. It was balm to his hurt feelings at this time, 
to take his place at the blackboard and demonstrate 
with ease the difficult problems which the little 
‘‘ professed Christians ” struggled with in vain. 
He prepared his lessons with unusual care, and 
was always sure of one hour, throughout the long, 
hard day, in which his place was foremost. This 
gave him strength to endure the rest. Dr. Martin 
had always complimented him on his power of 
grasping the problems of mathematics, and had 
particularly praised him for his habit of stating 
the sums in his own language, instead of con- 
forming unintelligently to the statements of the 
book. 

It is probable that his teacher perceived the 
fact that this mathematics lesson was a source of 
triumphant satisfaction to the ostracised boy, and 
that he grudged him such a pleasure. However 


30 


THE CHILD AMY. 


that may be, one morning when Harry with great 
care had gone to the blackboard, on the dais in 
front of the class, and demonstrated a very diffi- 
cult problem, to his own entire satisfaction, he 
was astonished to hear Dr. Martin tell him that 
his demonstration was wrong. He had put it in 
his own language, but he knew it was correct. It 
flashed through him that his teacher meant to 
humiliate him in his one place of pride. That 
consciousness made him feel the need of wariness 
and self-control. 

“What mistake have I made, sir?” he said. 

The doctor then stated the problem in the 
words of the book. 

“That was exactly what I said, sir,” said Harry 
calmly. 

“You did not. You stated the problem incor- 
rectly,” said the doctor angrily. 

“ I stated the problem, not in the exact words 
of the book, but I stated it absolutely correctly,” 
said the boy. 

“Do you mean to defy me, sir?” cried the 
doctor furiously. “ I tell you, you lie.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


31 


On the desk in front of him there was a heavy 
iron inkstand. Harry, maddened by the injustice 
of this determination to humiliate him, seized this 
inkstand and hurled it at the doctor’s head, with a 
force that would inevitably have killed him, had 
the missile struck. The doctor dodged it just in 
time, and it went against the wall behind him, 
crashing a great hole in the plaster. It rebounded, 
scattering a dark stream, and fell on the floor at 
the boy’s feet. He stood with his hands clenched, 
expecting an attack, and ready and willing for it. 
But the doctor, ghastly pale and almost breath- 
less, ordered him to his room. Harry’s anger 
subsided instantly. The man was afraid of him ! 
He turned on his heel, letting the breath escape 
through his teeth with a sort of half-whistle, 
expressive of infinite scorn. It was not an articu- 
late word, but it said plainly enough : 

“ Coward ! ” 

He marched out and to his own room, closing 
the door behind him. It was not long before he 
heard a key turned in the lock outside, and he 
knew he was a prisoner. A mood of intense 


32 


THE CHILD AMY. 


bitterness came over him. He hated all the 
world, but most of all he hated himself. The 
minister, who had preached in church on Sunday, 
could not have wished his penitents, to have a 
deeper “conviction of sin” than this boy felt in 
his breast now. He recognized within himself an 
aggregation of bad passions, anger, defiance, re- 
venge, hatred, pride, envy, rebellion, that made him 
feel himself utterly lost. 

It didn’t occur to him to kill himself, but he 
passionately wished that he had never lived. He 
didn’t blame people for hating him ; there was 
nothing to rouse or respond to love in him. He 
was sorry Miss Melissa’s gentle life had ever been 
troubled by him, and he thought of poor old 
Martha, too. He resolved to go away and lose 
himself, and so rid them of a curse. His belief 
in his own wickedness was supreme, and there 
was not one gleam of hope across the blackness. 
All his religious instruction had failed to give him 
one impression of the love of God. If he thought 
of God as a factor in his existence at all, it was as 
a resistless power only. That power might cast 


THE CHILD AMY, 


33 


him into hell, but this idea did not terrify him. 
The creed of the fatalist protected him there. If 
it was to be, it was to be, and there was no use 
troubling about it before it came. 

He walked about the room with his hands in 
his pockets, chafing under the temporary restraint. 
He had resolved that it should be temporary, but 
he would have to wait until nightfall to carry out 
his scheme. The hours that intervened were a 
time of torture. Not a ray of hope or thought of 
love came to soften him. He knew that Miss 
Melissa loved and prayed for him, but he seemed 
so unworthy of her love and so utterly beyond 
her prayers, that the thought failed to touch him. 
She would be much happier when she was finally 
rid of him, and there would not be the endless 
reprimands and protests from her dreaded brother, 
of which he was the occasion. 

He wondered how he was going to make a 
living, and a natural love for the sea, which had 
been stimulated by the books of adventure he had 
read, decided him. to go to the coast, not far away, 
and look for employment on some vessel going 


34 


THE CHILD AMY. 


out. He had thought of this before, but now the 
moment of action was come. He knew it would 
be final, as far as its effect upon any future inter- 
course with his uncle was concerned, but that was 
a reason for and not against it. He was anxious 
to have done with his past life, completely and at 
once. Feeling that his aunt would be far happier 
without him, he had no regrets for it. He knew 
perfectly well that his uncle would never receive 
or recognize him again, and he felt a sense of 
freedom at being rid of the obligation which his 
protection of and provision for him had subjected 
him to. 

When supper-time came, a meagerly furnished 
tray was brought in to him by one of the under- 
teachers, who looked half-afraid to enter the room. 
Later, the same man came to take it away, and 
Harry was offered the privilege of going down to 
prayers. This he declined, and the lock was 
again turned upon him from the outside. 

The hour had now come for which he had 
waited. He put into a hand-bag as many clothes 
as it would hold, and into his pocket his few 


THE CHILD AMY, 


35 


valuables, and what money he had. Then he 
dropped the bag out of the window into the 
flower-bed underneath, and then lowered himself 
from the sill, as far as his arms would reach, and 
from there fell to the ground. It was not very 
far, and he was unhurt. He took up his bag, 
settled his hat on his head, looked stealthily 
around, then struck out boldly through the trees, 
and was soon lost in the shadows. 

That was the beginning of his new life. He 
walked to the coast and found a sailing-vessel 
about to start on a cruise. Without much diffi- 
culty he secured a position on board, and sailed 
away the very next morning. 

His disappearance, together with the events that 
preceded it, were duly reported to his uncle in a 
long and edifying letter from Dr. Martin. The 
facts were a good deal embellished by the play of 
the Doctors imagination, but even without any 
embellishment they were enough. The fiat went 
forth that from henceforth Harry was disowned. 
Miss Melissa was forbidden, under the penalty of 
her brothers severe displeasure, to hold any 


36 


THE CHILD AMY. 


communication whatever with the miscreant, a 
command not difficult to obey, since the boy made 
no sign and they had no hint of what had become 
of him. 

In this way six months had gone by, and, 
except in Miss Melissa’s timid but loving heart, 
the subject of the runaway boy was utterly 
ignored. Even if she had dared, there was noth- 
ing to be said in his favor. His shortcomings 
had to be admitted, and to the conscious rectitude 
of her brother, a shortcoming of any kind was a 
thing not to be tolerated. 

So the pair lived on, alone and isolated, in 
their comfortable old home. It was solitary 
and gloomy, in spite of its comfort ; but if 
Miss Melissa thought so she did not express 
the thought, while her brother, feeling that his 
own morality and uprightness were thrown into 
stronger relief by his nephew’s contrasted behavior, 
seemed absolutely satisfied. His business affairs 
went well ; his bank account was rolling up ; he 
was an example to others, and a satisfaction to 
himself ; and the fortunes of that rebellious boy 


THE CHILD AMY. 


37 


who had gone wrong, in the very presence of such 
a model, appeared to be a topic with which he did 
not concern his busy mind. 

It was upon this condition of affairs that Harry 
had entered, with the proposition to his aunt to 
charge herself with the care of the child he had 
rescued. 


III. 


Miss Melissa and Martha were in a state of 
secret agitation, which neither confided to the 
other, as they awaited the arrival of Harry and 
the child. The old lady’s kindness of heart, and 
wish to oblige her nephew, were struggling vio- 
lently with her dread of her brother. When 
Martha reported that the expected arrivals were 
in sight. Miss Melissa did not go to the door. 
She had a sort of feeling that she might encounter 
the eyes of her dreaded brother, though she knew 
him to be many miles away. 

She was seated in a rocking-chair with her knit- 
ting, when the door opened and Harry entered, lead- 
ing a little girl by the hand. The child’s appearance 
was odd, partly on account of her face, which, both 
in outline and expression, was certainly unusual 
for a child, and partly on account of her dress. 

38 












THE CHILD AMY. 


41 


She wore a little scant gown of dark-blue flannel, 
that reached almost to the floor. It was made 
with a very short waist, and had a wide belt of 
black braid. There were picturesque puffs on the 
shoulders, and a soft, black frill falling downward 
from a little slender throat that was white as milk. 
Her hair, a perfect golden glory, was not long, but 
it curled round her fair face in a thick, fine fluff, 
and her large, dark-blue eyes were set under defi- 
nitely-marked, decided eyebrows, and shaded with 
long, dark lashes. Her face was very pale, and 
her delicately modelled chin was as firm and 
decided as any matured man’s could have been. 
She stopped short, just within the door, and 
holding on to Harry’s hand, she looked at Miss 
Melissa with a glance of scrutinizing interest, 
from under her slightly contracted brows. Miss 
Melissa got up, her heart instinctively touched by 
such delicate loveliness. She went over and took 
the child’s hand affectionately, and then sat down 
in the nearest chair and drew the little creature 
toward her. 

“ Dear child ! ” she said ; “ poor, darling baby ! 


42 


THE CHILD AMY, 


Give me a sweet kiss, and tell me what your 
name is.” 

The child accepted the caress, but did not 
return it. She had still that little frown on her 
forehead as she answered: “Amy Erskine Leigh.” 

The first words she uttered stamped her as a 
foreigner. She might speak the English tongue, 
but the very tones of her voice were distinctly 
un-American. 

“ And do you know where you were born ? ” 
asked Miss Melissa. 

“ At Compton,” said the child promptly. 

“And where is Compton?” 

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the 
answer came in a rather severe tone : 

“ I should think you would know without 
being told.” 

“ But I don’t, my dearie, and I want you to 
tell me. Where is Compton?” 

There was a more perceptible hesitation this 
time before the child replied : 

“ I don’t know where it is, but I should think 
a grown person would know.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


43 


It was plain that she regarded Miss Melissa’s 
ignorance with a certain scorn. The old lady felt 
unaccountably humiliated, but she went on with 
her questions: 

“ Do you know what your father’s name was, 
dear ? ” she asked next. “ What did your mother 
call him?” 

“Of course I know my papa’s name — George 
Fairfax Leigh.” 

“And your mother’s name, darling?” 

“ Sybil,” answered the child. 

“ But what was her name before she was 
married ? ” 

“ I suppose her name was always Sybil,” said 
the child, with dignity, as if she wished that 
statement to close the discussion. 

“ And do you know where you were coming 
when you got on the big boat with your father 
and mother? ” 

“ Amellika,” said the child gravely, her rather 
haughty manner conferring such dignity on her 
grotesque pronunciation of the word that the old 
lady did not venture to laugh. 


44 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ But what place in America? What State or 
town ? ” she asked. 

“ I should think you’d know more about it 
than me,” said the child. I suppose you have 
always lived in America.” 

Her quick ear had caught the correct sound 
of the word, and she uttered it this time with a 
distinctness that was a direct repudiation of her 
error in the first instance. Miss Melissa turned 
her face away to hide a smile. 

Harry, who during their drive over, had told 
the child as much as he thought best of the 
establishment she was about to enter, and of his 
own relationship to it, now felt that he must go 
away. When he stated his intention the child 
clung to his hand more tightly, and Miss Melissa 
half-timidly asked him to stay and get some dinner. 

“ Not in this house,” said the boy, with an 
angry toss of the head. “ I wouldn’t be in it now, 
but for some one else’s sake, and I’d rather starve 
than touch his bread. Good-by, Auntie.” 

“ O, Harry dear ! don’t talk that wicked way,” 
said his aunt, in a piteous tone. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


45 


Harry is right, and he’s not the one that s 
wicked. It’s somebody else,” said the child, with 
decision. “ I wouldn’t stay, either, unless Harry 
paid my board ; but he’s going to do that, and he 
wants me to stay, and I will do what he tells me, 
because he saved my life, and it’s my duty to do 
as he tells me. He says he won’t be under any 
obrogation to his uncle, and neither will I. He 
says you will take all the trouble about me, and 
he don’t mind being under obrogations to you ; 
but I will try to take care of myself and not to 
give you trouble.” 

That’s right, Amy,” said the boy, taking up 
his cap and preparing to leave. “ I’ll come to see 
you soon. I’m going to stay ashore awhile now, 
and I’ll watch my chance when he is out of the 
way. Here, Auntie,” he said, taking something 
from his pocket, '' I suppose this will cover 
expenses until I come again.” 

“O, Harry! I couldn’t take it from you, dear. 
Indeed I couldn’t.” 

^‘I’ll take it,” said the child, “and I’ll put it 
in her purse and make her use it. You mustn’t 


46 


THE CHILD AMY. 


think he means to hurt your feelings, Auntie,” she 
said, using the title as if unconsciously. 

“ Of course she’ll need some clothes,” said the 
boy, “and part of it can go for that; I will bring 
more next time I come.” 

It made him feel very grand indeed, to be able 
to provide for the child in this way ; and he had, 
without hesitation, devoted to this purpose the 
entire earnings of his voyage. As the child took 
the money from him and put it into the pocket 
of her dress. Miss Melissa had no opportunity 
to see how large a sum it was. Afterwards, when 
it was given into her keeping, she counted it 
with surprise. 

“ Good-by, Auntie,” said the boy, going over 
and kissing her in a quick way that showed 
he wanted to get the parting over. “ Good-by, 
Amy.” 

He bent to kiss her cheek, but she threw both 
arms around his neck and hugged him tight. He 
heard a little sound in her throat that made him 
fear she was going to have one of her crying 
spells, which distressed him so, but the next 


THE CHILD AMY. 


47 


moment she had given him a quiet kiss and 
drawn away. 

“You needn’t be afraid,” she said, “ I’m not 
going to cry ; I want to, but I won’t.”X 

She set her little teeth firmly, and walked over 
to Miss Melissa and took her stand beside her, 
with an air of the strongest resolution. There 
were two tear-drops on her cheeks, but she ignored 
them so entirely that she did not even wipe them 
away. She bent her head and bowed him a brave 
good-by as he turned back at the door, and she 
gazed at him with eyes that looked as if they had 
never known what it was to weep. 

Miss Melissa left her entirely to herself, as she 
turned and walked to the window and stood there 
looking out until the sound of retreating wheels 
had died away. Then she turned round, with fresh 
tears on her face, and, in a voice resolutely con- 
trolled, said : 

“Will you lend me a handkerchief. Auntie?” 

When Miss Melissa had complied, she wiped 
first one eye and then the other, and then delicately 
blew her nose. 


48 


THE CHILD AMY, 


I am sorry I could not help crying a little,’’ 
she said ; but I’ve done now. Please don’t say 
anything to me about Harry, or my papa and 
mamma, until to-morrow. Then you can ask me 
what you choose.” 

Poor child ! how tired of questions she must 
be. Miss Melissa inwardly resolved to spare her 
any more, for the present, at least. 

The little girl, having handed back the hand- 
kerchief, now turned to examine her surroundings. 
She walked round the room, looking closely at all 
its comfortable appointments, glancing through 
the open door along the hall, and then approaching 
Miss Melissa, said in a quiet, thoughtful tone: 

“ I like this house.” 

Miss Melissa felt sensibly gratified. 

“I’m very glad,” she answered; “I will do all 
I can to make you comfortable and happy.” 

“ I don’t expect to be happy,” said the little 
creature, “ but I am sure I shall be very comforta- 
ble, and I will try not to give you trouble. Could 
I go now and see where I am to sleep ? ” 

“ Certainly, darling. I have had a little bed 


THE CHILD AMY, 


49 


put for you right by mine. I don’t know how we 
will do hereafter, but you will stay there for the 
present.” She thought it best not to let the child 
look upon the existing arrangements as permanent. 

When they had mounted the wide, old-fashioned 
staircase and entered Miss Melissa’s big, comfort- 
able room, with the two white-covered beds placed 
side by side, the child again expressed her satisfac- 
tion by saying, in the same simple, decisive way : 

I like this room.” 

Then she asked if she could take off her dress 
and bathe her face and hands, saying they were 
dusty from the drive. Martha, who had followed 
them upstairs, came forward to help her, but the 
child, thanking her courteously, declined her assist- 
ance, saying : 

“ Mamma liked me to wait on myself ; she 
said we couldn’t afford to have everything done 
for us. So she taught me to dress and undress 
myself,” 

She had taken off her quaint little gown, and 
Miss Melissa, observing the fineness and delicacy 
of all the garments the child wore, was confirmed 


60 


THE CHILD AMY. 


in her conviction that her parents must have been 
people of the highest refinement. 

“ That fisherman’s wife was kind and good to 
me,” the child said. “ I asked her to wash and 
iron my clothes, and staid in bed while she did it. 
I couldn’t take a very comfortable bath, you know, 
because there wasn’t any place, and the soap looked 
really dirty and smelt bad, and the towel scratched 
my skin. May I take a warm bath in a big tub 
to-night ? ” 

“ Certainly you may, my darling.” 

Turning to Martha, Amy asked her to pour 
out some water for her. She was too little to 
reach the bowl comfortably, so she brought a 
small stool across the room and mounted upon it 
and began her careful ablutions. Miss Melissa 
noticed that she did not satisfy herself with a cake 
of soap until she had deliberately smelled all three 
that the dish contained. She asked permission to 
use Miss Melissa’s nail-brush, and manipulated it 
with great skill, inspecting her nails as she wiped 
her hands, to be sure that they were perfectly 
cleansed. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


51 


'' Could I possibly get a tooth-brush this after- 
noon ? ” she asked now. “ IVe been cleaning my 
teeth with a rag ; but if you had a tooth-brush 
you could give me — though I could wait until 
to-morrow, if you haven’t.'’ 

Martha was almost convulsed by this time, 
but Miss Melissa quietly handed her a key and 
told her to look in a certain place and get a tooth- 
brush. She added, however, that she feared it 
would be too large. 

“ O, thanks! that will do. I don’t mind its 
being large,” said the child, with satisfaction, tak- 
ing the tooth-brush from Martha and beginning 
to use it with much force and self-possession. 
After this was over she walked across to the 
dressing-table, and with Miss Melissa’s permis- 
sion, began to brush out her golden locks. 

When the pale-gold hair was in order, the 
child handed her dress to Martha and asked her 
to brush it. The good creature, still suppressing 
her inclination to laugh, did as she was requested ; 
and as she handed it back, said, with what she 
meant to be her politest manner : 


52 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ Here’s your dress, Amy ; nice and clean.” 

“ Thanks,” said the child, taking it ; “ but you’re 
to call me Miss Amy, please. Mamma never 
allowed the maids to call me Amy; I don’t want 
to be unpolite, and I hope you won’t mind my 
telling you. Of course you didn’t know.” 

Miss Melissa thought the time had come for 
a little essential correction, and was about to 
speak when Martha, seeing her purpose, looked 
at her deprecatingly. 

“Of course I’ll call her Miss, if it’ll please her,” 
she said in a low tone. “ Who wouldn’t want to 
do anything they could to remind the child of her 
home? If it’s what she has been used to, I’m 
sure it’s a small thing for me to do.” 

Amy was now entirely done with her toilet. 
The little gown was carefully fastened, and the 
big rosette that closed her belt flattened into place, 
and the clean-faced, neat-handed little creature 
walked over to Miss Melissa, and taking her 
hand, without speaking, manifested her readiness 
to go downstairs. 

They met a servant coming to announce din- 


THE CHILD AMY, 


53 


ner, and so they went at once to the dining-room. 
There was no seat in it adapted to a child’s occu- 
pancy, and a cushion had to be put into one of 
the old-fashioned, high-backed, leather chairs. As 
Amy mounted upon this, she glanced across to 
Miss Melissa, who sat opposite, and said simply: 

“Shall I say grace?” and then, taking the 
other’s wondering silence for assent, she bent her 
head and uttered distinctly a short and reverential 
form of blessing and thanksgiving. It was evi- 
dently an established habit with her, and she had 
no suspicion that there was anything surprising 
in it. 

She now unfolded her napkin with great delib- 
eration and tucked one end of it under her chin, 
and waited to be helped. She rejected all but the 
simplest and most wholesome food, saying mamma 
never allowed her to eat rich things. She knew 
perfectly what she might and what she might not 
take ; but after making her selections she ate so 
heartily, that Miss Melissa pityingly divined how 
starved the little creature must have been. When 
she had finished, she put her knife and fork in 


54 


THE CHILD AMY. 


place with great precision, neatly folded her 
napkin, and sat quite still and silent until Miss 
Melissa rose. 

On leaving the table, a feeling that she was 
entertaining a guest of importance caused Miss 
Melissa, half-unconsciously, to lead the way to the 
rather stately drawing-room, instead of the apart- 
ment for more ordinary use. 

Amy walked about and inspected the room, 
after having asked Miss Melissa’s permission, and 
finally came back to where the old lady sat in a 
deep arm-chair, and expressed by a little motion 
that she wanted to be taken on her lap. Miss 
Melissa lifted her willingly, and then the child, of 
her own accord, began to talk of her parents. 

“ I wish papa and mamma could see this 
house. I am sure they would like it. They have 
always loved old-fashioned things. Papa used to 
say that was why he liked me — because I was 
so old-fashioned.” 

She spoke of them as naturally as if they were 
still living, and seemed now to be able to recall 
them without pain. Of course she could not 


THE CHILD AMY. 


55 


realize what death meant, and at six the mind is 
easily diverted. Miss Melissa felt both glad and 
sorry, as she heard her talk — glad that she was 
able, in giving the child again the comforts to 
which she had been accustomed, to fill a part of 
the void left by the loss of her parents, but sorry 
to be compelled to feel that the present arrange- 
ment could not last. It would have been the 
delight of her heart if she could have kept this 
dear child with her always, and she would not 
have felt the trouble worth counting, but she 
knew her brother too well to suppose, for one 
moment, that he would allow it. Even if she 
screwed up her courage to keep the child until 
he came, she was sure he would order her to be 
sent away. So she sighed deeply as she looked 
down at the sweet piece of child-flesh perched 
so comfortably on her knee, and forced herself 
to pave the way for the change that she knew 
must come. 

“Yes, it’s a nice old house,” she said, “and I’m 
glad to have a dear little girl like you to come and 
stay with me in it, sometimes. My brother often 


56 


THE CHILD AMY, 


goes away on business, and when he is away you 
can come and make me visits.” 

‘‘ I don’t want to go away from here/’ the child 
replied. “ Harry said I was to stay with you. 
Are you going to send me back to that fisher- 
man’s house? It was dirty and hot; I don’t want 
to stay there. I want to stay with you.” 

“ No, no; you shall never go back there,” said 
Miss Melissa, drawing her close and bending to 
kiss the top of her gold head. '‘To-morrow I’ll 
take you to town, and I’ll buy you some nice 
dresses, and hats, and shoes, and under-clothes, 
and then, after you are all ready. I’ll put you at a 
nice school, somewhere,” she went on, the idea 
taking form in her mind as she spoke; “a school 
where there are other children, and you can learn 
to read and write, and I’ll give you pretty story- 
books, and you shall write me nice letters and tell 
me everything you do.” 

Miss Melissa had a little money of her own 
with which she now proposed to herself to do 
this. She managed her brother’s house and cared 
for him in every way, but he never thought of 


THE CHILD AMY. 


57 


giving her anything but the most meager return 
for her services, and it never occurred to her to 
want or expect more. However, she was very 
economical, and she had enough to make this 
scheme seem practicable, with the help Harry 
could give. The vision was, therefore, so delight- 
ful to her that she was disappointed to see that it 
seemed to find no favor with the child. 

“I don’t want to go to school,” she said. “ My 
mamma said I should never go away to school. I 
heard her say so, and my papa said she was right. 
I want to stay here with you. Please let me. 
Harry wants me to, and Til be good.” 

She rubbed her soft head against Miss Melissa’s 
cheek as affectionately as a kitten. 

“ I wish I could. I wish I could, with all my 
heart,” said the old lady ; “ but you know, darling, 
this house isn’t mine. It belongs to my brother, 
and he is not used to children, and does not like 
them. You couldn’t be happy here with some one 
you were afraid of — could you? It would be a 
great deal happier for you at a nice school, where 
there were little children for you to play with.” 


58 


THE CHILD AMY. 


It was in vain to try to win her over to this 
view. It seemed enough for her that her father and 
mother had not wished her to go away to school, 
and that Harry had said she was to stay with 
Auntie. She seemed incapable of understanding 
that the wish of her parents was not still to be the 
law of her life, or that Harry, who had rescued 
her from death, was not the best judge as to what 
should be done with her. 


IV. 

It was a pleasant afternoon and evening that 
Miss Melissa spent with the child. They took 
a delightful walk, and Amy inspected everything 
about the premises with great interest. The 
flower-garden filled her with delight, and she 
clasped her hands in a state of ecstacy before a 
great rose-bush, heavy with crimson blossoms and 
green leaves. After standing a moment absorb- 
ing its beauty, she began to smell rose after rose, 
drawing in the perfume of each with an intensity 
of enjoyment which the unemotional old maid 
looked upon with amazement. She had probably 
not had as much sensation in a year’s experience, 
as Amy got out of that rose-bush in a moment. 

It was almost dark when she returned to the 
house, and the child, being a little puzzled by the 
customs she observed about her, asked hesitat- 


59 


60 


THE CHILD AMY. 


ingly, if she was to be allowed to come to dinner, 
saying that papa and mamma always permitted 
her, if there were no guests. 

Of course, child, you’ll always come to the 
table with me, but we’ve been to dinner. That 
was dinner we had at two o’clock. We will have 
supper now.” 

Oh ! excuse me,” said Amy ; “ it is a little dif- 
ferent, you see. I’m sorry I can’t dress for din — 
for supper. I always dress in the evening, at home, 
and when I have some clothes, I will here ; but 
now, of course, I can’t.” 

Miss Melissa willingly dispensed with this for- 
mality, and they got through their evening meal 
very comfortably without it. Afterwards, Amy 
sat on Miss Melissa’s lap and fell into a voluble 
flow of talk. In her present mood, it seemed a 
pleasure to her to speak of her home and parents, 
and she gave a beautiful impression of the love 
and mutual care that had pervaded all. She 
avoided the painful subject of the wreck, and told 
Miss Melissa, confidentially, of the disconcerting 
discomforts which she had had to put up with in 



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THE CHILD AMY. 


63 


the fisherman’s hut. She had been very much 
frightened, too, by the master of the house, who 
she said was a cross old man, who frowned at her. 
But she spoke with the deepest gratitude of the 
young woman’s kindness, and, of Harry, with an 
enthusiastic ardor. He was so brave, so strong, 
so handsome, she said, and now she would always 
think of him as the best friend she had in the 
world. She seemed to have no near relations in 
England, and Miss Melissa’s questions elicited no 
knowledge of anyone who had a stronger claim 
upon her than themselves. Her assumption that 
Harry was now her guardian and protector seemed 
to be the true state of the case. 

When nine o’clock struck, Amy rose to her feet 
and said it was bedtime — mamma never allowed 
her to stay up later than nine. So Miss Melissa 
led her off upstairs. 

They found Martha sitting by the lamp, stitch- 
ing away on a nightgown, which she had been 
busily adapting from Miss Melissa’s form to Amy’s. 
The warm bath, already bespoken, was soon pre- 
pared for her, and when she came out of it, damp 


64 


THE CHILD AMY. 


and rosy, and smelling of sweet soap, she put on, 
with delight, the improvised garment, in which she 
looked very innocent and unconscious as she came 
and knelt at Miss Melissa’s knee, to say her 
prayers. 

After going through one or two forms of 
prayer, she said fervently, God bless my dear 
papa and mamma,’' and then, after a little pause, 
she added the names of Harry, Miss Melissa, 
Martha, and the fisherman’s wife. Then, in con- 
clusion, she said, “And bless that bad old man, 
and make him good.” This caused Miss Melissa 
to fear she had received some cruel treatment from 
the old fisherman, which, with her power of self- 
control, she had not chosen to divulge. She 
thought it best, however, to ask no questions, and 
so she only kissed the little creature warmly, when 
she rose from her knees, and then went to tuck 
her in bed. The child nestled down into the soft, 
sweet bedclothes, like a downy chicken in its nest, 
saying, as Miss Melissa bent over her: 

“ Oh ! it seems so good and comfy. Mamma 
used to ask me every night, ‘Are you comfy, dar- 


THE CHILD AMY. 


65 


ling?’ — and I haven’t been comfy for so long.” 
These were her last words before falling into a 
delicious sleep. 

The days that followed were busy ones for 
Miss Melissa, and for Amy and Martha, too. Mr. 
Arnold had written that he would not be back for 
a week, and so that gave them all a temporary 
respite. The child had to be taken into the town 
and equipped in every way, and Miss Melissa was 
more than willing to draw on her little savings for 
the purpose. It was a funny sight to watch Amy 
when the purchases were being made. Her moth- 
er’s standard of taste and judgment was the one 
adhered to, and Amy manifested the most decided 
likes and dislikes, and amused the milliners and 
store-keepers no less than Miss Melissa by her 
positive way of settling all disputed points. 

She seemed to remember every article of her 
lost wardrobe, and as it was not an elaborate or 
expensive one. Miss Melissa decided to humor 
her in her strong desire to replace them all, as 
nearly as possible. She could not help marveling 
at the cleverness of the child’s descriptions. She 


66 


THE CHILD AMY, 


ordered all her dresses to be made with long skirts 
and short waists, and absolutely rejected all finery 
and furbelows, though she would critically inspect 
all materials shown, feeling them delicately with 
her thumb and forefinger, discarding the coarse 
textures and choosing the fine, with a splendid 
disregard of the question of expense. She posi- 
tively refused even to try on the hats chosen for 
her by the milliner, and selected a great Gains- 
borough with nodding white plumes, and wide rib- 
bons tied at her left ear. She directed the woman 
how to tie it, and at what angle to put it on, and 
she looked so absolutely bewitching in it that 
Miss Melissa let her keep it. For every-day wear, 
she rejected the large shade-hat offered, and chose 
a demure little white sun-bonnet that could be 
easily washed, and that suited her to perfection. 

One afternoon, a few days later, Martha came 
upstairs and told the child that Harry had come, 
and wanted to see her. She was full of delight at 
this announcement, and begged Martha, in great 
glee, to get out her best white dress and her big 
hat, for her to put on to see him. Martha com- 


THE CHILD AMY, 


67 


plied, as she promptly did to every wish the child 
expressed, and Amy brushed her golden locks 
carefully, and tied on her hat, and bright and spot- 
less as a little fresh-opened lily, went down to see 
her young hero. 

The young hero was not in the best of 
humors. Miss Melissa was out, and he had been 
left alone in the familiar sitting-room that had 
been the scene of so much that was painful in the 
past. His present mode of life was very hard and 
rough, and it had made its mark upon him out- 
wardly. Not only had he, through his association 
with coarse and reckless men, learned to use their 
language, and, to some extent, even to engage in 
their low pleasures, but he had got careless in his 
personal habits. His dress was not only coarse, 
it was extremely untidy. His nails and hands 
were far from clean, his hair was shaggy and 
uncombed, and there was an odor about his clothes 
that was an unsavory mingling of the smells of 
fish and bad tobacco. He was standing in the 
floor, with a scowl on his face, and some rather 
bitter thoughts in his mind, when suddenly a little 


68 


THE CHILD AMY. 


figure, in exquisite, spotless white, came running 
toward him, the light fineness of her long white 
garment fluttering in the sweet summer air. Her 
two little arms were outstretched, and she would 
have thrown them around his neck, but that he 
sprang back and put a chair between them. 

“Don’t!” he said; “you mustn’t touch me. 
I’m a dirty brute to come where you^are, like this.” 

The child stopped short, with a look of hurt 
disappointment on her face. The tears sprang to 
her eyes, but she made a tremendous effort and 
kept them back, winking violently. The boy 
still stood holding the chair between them. With- 
out advancing further, Amy sat down. 

“Auntie will be in directly,” she said; “I sup- 
pose you came to see her.” 

“No, Amy, I came to see you. Don’t be 
angry, darling, because I wouldn’t let you kiss me. 
It was only because I wasn’t fit. I’ve been haul- 
ing fish, and I’m all dirty with them.” 

“ I should think you might have taken a bath,” 
she said, in a matter-of-fact tone. 

“ So I might — but I didn’t think of it. I will 


THE CHILD AMY, 


69 


next time. Don’t look at me now, baby; I’m 
ashamed of myself. But let me look at you. 
Why, how beautiful and stunning you are ! ” 

I’m ashamed of myself now,” said the child, 
“to be dressed in all these beautiful things and 
you looking so poor and dirty.” 

“ But I needn’t look poor and dirty, darling. 
It’s my own fault, don’t you see? — and because 
I’m a brute. I can be clean if I choose, and you’ll 
never see me looking like this again.” 

At this moment Miss Melissa came in, and 
while Harry turned to speak to her, the child 
quietly slipped from the room. 

She made her way upstairs and quickly took 
off her white hat and frock, putting on, instead, 
the little blue flannel in which she had been res- 
cued. Then, with a puzzled expression on her 
face, she stood thoughtfully looking out of the 
window a little while, her mind evidently working 
rapidly. Presently she heard her name called. It 
was Harry’s voice, sounding bright and cheerful 
now. She flew across the room and down the 
staircase, at the bottom of which he was standing. 


70 


THE CHILD AMY, 


“ Will you kiss me now, Harry ? she said ; 
and to her delight, saw him stretch out his arms. 
She sprang down three steps to jump into them, 
and not until she had her hands clasped tight 
around his neck did she perceive a change in him, 
too. He had looked up some old clothes left be- 
hind him when he went away, and although they 
were ridiculously small for him now, they were 
clean and neat, and he had been using brush and 
comb, and soap and water, with gratifying results. 
The child drew back and looked at him. 

“You dear old dearV she said, shaking him 
first, and then kissing him, “ Now you’re fit to talk 
to the queen. Put me down, please, Harry. I 
don’t like to be carried about as if I were a baby.” 

“Then maybe you don’t like me to call you 
baby,” said the boy. He had unconsciously felt a 
prompting to do this, but he did not want to 
offend her. 

“ I don’t mind your doing it,” said the child, 
thoughtfully, “ but I should not like any one else 
to. I don’t mind your carrying me ; but others 
might see it and think it looked ridiculous.” 


THE CHILD AMY, 


71 


So he put her down, and she took his hand 
and led him down the hall, stopping to get her 
little sun-bonnet, and tying it under her chin as 
she went out on the porch. 

Let’s take a walk,” she said, “ and you can 
tell me about when you were a little child like 
me.” 

So they wandered all about the place, but 
Harry let her do most of the talking. He was 
better pleased to listen. At first, she asked him 
some searching questions, but an instinct told her 
that she was giving pain, and she checked herself, 
Harry did not want to be questioned about either 
his past or his present, with those innocent pene- 
trating eyes upon him. He began to feel an 
uncomfortable consciousness that his life would 
not bear scrutiny. 

“ Harry,” she said presently, in a rather mys- 
terious voice, her little hand confidingly in his, 
and her sweet face upturned, “ there was some- 
thing I did not tell you at the fisherman’s house.” 

“ What was that ? ” said the boy. 

Why, the man came home when you were 


72 


THE CHILD AMY, 


not there, and the woman was frightened, and so 
was I. He talked so loud and was so cross, and 
used such dreadful words. Harry,” she went on, 
sinking her voice to a whisper, “ do you think he 
could have been drunk ? 

She uttered the last word with an inflection of 
mysterious horror. For some reason, the blood 
flew to the boy s cheeks, and he turned his eyes 
away from hers, without speaking. 

“ Oh ! I was so frightened I didn’t know what 
to do,” she went on. “ After a while, he stopped 
scolding, and saying bad words, and threw him- 
self down on the bench, and fell asleep and 
snored. And the flies came and crawled on 
his face, and his dog licked him, and looked so 
ashamed, I thought; and his face was red, and fat, 
and horrid to see, and a strong, bad smell came 
from his breath and went all over the room. And 
then his poor wife cried — she is young and kind, 
and I don’t know why she married that bad old 
man — and she was so ashamed because I had 
seen him, and I went over and got in her lap and 
put my arms around her, and we both cried, for 


THE CHILD AMY. 


73 


we were both very unhappy ; but I think she was 
the unhappiest, for my papa and mamma were 
dead, but they were gone to God, and her husband 
was alive, but wicked and drunk!' She uttered the 
last words with that same mysterious horror. 

The boy’s brows were contracted, and his voice 
not so soft as it generally was when he spoke to 
her, as he said abruptly : 

“ What do you know about God ? ” 

“ What do I know about God ? ” said the child, 
puzzled, why, I know all about Him.” 

“ You do ! Well, what is it, then ?” 

“ I know He is good, and I know He loves us. 
The Bible says ‘ God is love.’ ” 

“ Is that all you know?” said the boy; “well, I 
know a good deal more than you do.” 

“ You couldn’t know any more than that,” said 
the child, “ for that is all.” 

“ I know a good deal that is very different 
from that.” 

“ Then it’s not true,” said the child, with the 
utmost simplicity. 

“ Well, don’t let’s talk about God,” said the hoy, 


74 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ let s talk about me. Suppose I had the power to 
make people — to take clay and make little babies 
like dolls, and then make them live and be real 
people, and grow into men and women, and then 
suppose they didn’t behave themselves and were 
bad and disobedient, and I took them and threw 
them into a great ocean of fire, where they would 
burn and burn and never burn up, but go on burn- 
ing in torture for ever and ever — would I be 
good ? ” 

“No; you would be bad and wicked, and God 
would punish you for it.” 

“How? — by throwing me into an ocean of 
fire, too ? ” 

“No; but by punishing you just enough to 
make you see how bad you were, and get good. 
He couldn’t throw you into the fire, because that 
would be cruel, and He couldn’t be cruel, because 
He is love.” 

“ But plenty of people believe that is exactly 
what He does — that He has made us and put us 
here, without asking us whether we want to come 
or not, and then if we don’t behave to suit Him, 


THE CHILD AMY. 


75 


He’s got the great fiery ocean already made, and 
with millions of men and women groaning in 
agony in it now, and He’ll throw us in there, too, 
and we’ll never come out forever.” 

“ What people believe that ? — bad people, 
wicked people ! ” said the child excitedly ; “ I know 
you never knew a kind, good person that was any- 
thing like God himself, who believed it.” 

Harry reflected. The people by whom he had 
been taught this doctrine were certainly not of a 
character to disprove the child’s words, but he 
knew the doctrine was held by many kind and 
merciful people. He supposed his aunt to be one 
of these, though she had always been too loving 
and kind not to shrink from avowing such a be- 
lief. He couldn’t bear to hurt the child by bring- 
ing such an accusation as he knew this would 
seem to her, against the old lady she had already 
learned to love so much. So he was silent, and, 
after a minute, the child went on. 

“ It’s bad enough to tell lies at all,” she said; 
“to tell them on people is bad enough, but to tell 
them on God ! ” — 


76 


THE CHILD AMY, 


She stopped expressively after the word. 

Presently Harry said thoughtfully : 

Have you ever read the Bible, Amy? ” 

“No,” said the child, “not much. Mamma 
used to find texts for me to read, when she was 
teaching me my lessons. I read 'God is love,’ and 
'Suffer little children to come unto me, for of such 
is the kingdom of Heaven,’ and ‘ Like as a father 
pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that 
love Him,’ and ‘ I am the good Shepherd, and ye 
are my sheep,’ — oh ! and a great many more that 
are sweet and beautiful.” 

“ But suppose you got the Bible now and read 
it for yourself, and found it told that God had 
made that big fiery ocean to burn people in for- 
ever, and that if you displeased Him more than He 
would stand. He would turn His back on you and 
never forgive you, and that He was stern and hard, 
and threw a great many more people into the fire 
than He took to Heaven — what would you think, 
then ? ” 

“ I don’t believe that is in the Bible,” said the 
child indignantly. 


THE CHILD AMY, 


77 


“But if I got the Bible and showed it to you — 
all that, and a great deal more.” 

“ Still I wouldn’t believe it. God is kind and 
merciful and loves everybody. He would be hurt 
and sorry if I believed a thing like that.” 

“ But you can’t do just as you choose about 
the Bible — believing what you want to believe, 
and not believing what you want not to believe.” 

“I can’t?” said the child; “well. I’d like to 
know who’s to prevent me! I know I’ve got a 
right to believe that God is good and loving, and 
that anybody or any book that tells me He is hard 
and cruel is telling a wicked lie. He can’t be 
good and bad at the same time, and merciful 
and cruel at the same time, and I know He is good 
and not bad, and merciful and not cruel, and that’s 
just all I want to know, and I just love Him.” 

She paused, with her eyes full of tears. She 
was indignant at the libel upon the Being she 
loved so dearly, and hurt to think that Harry, her 
hero, seemed to take sides against Him. The boy 
was strangely moved. A new idea had got into 
his head. Suppose it was a mistake, after all ? 


78 


THE CHILD AMY, 


Suppose the child was right? It seemed a simple 
thing to trust blindly, as she did, and to love 
still, if he could not understand. He felt a move- 
ment of his heart that prompted him to lay hold 
of this source of comfort, which was so much to 
the child. It was beautiful just to believe that 
God was good, and that everything that taught 
the contrary was to be rejected as false. He had 
often heard that the Bible was written in figura- 
tive language — hell might be a figure, too! He 
could understand how that might reasonably be. 
He made his way to this idea, unassisted and 
alone. It was a thrilling thought. He felt a 
sharp pang of self-reproach for fear that he had 
sullied the child’s bright faith, or, at any rate, hurt 
her sacredest feelings. He looked down and met 
her wistful, upturned eyes. She was about to 
speak. 

“Harry,” she said softly, “don’t you love 
God?” 

He couldn’t say no. He answered promptly: 

“Yes,” and as he spoke, there was a feeling in 
his heart that made the word true. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


79 


The child’s face cleared instantly. 

‘‘Think of Him just as if He was the best flesh- 
and-blood father that you could imagine,” said the 
child ; “ He says He is just like a father.” 

“ I hope He isn’t much like an uncle,” said the 
boy, with a sudden bitterness in his laugh. This 
appeal to his feeling for those to whom he was 
bound by the nearest human ties was not a happy 
one. Miss Melissa was kind, but she had never 
really understood him, and he had never taken the 
most important step toward loving God — that of 
worthily and heartily loving one human being. 

But now a new and strange feeling had begun 
its work in his heart. 


V. 

It was astonishing how short a time it took 
Amy to become domesticated in her new home, 
and how soon everyone felt it natural and simple 
and delightful to have her there. She was won- 
derfully little trouble, and made a brave effort to 
subdue, for the sake of others, the fits of sadness 
that would sometimes come, in spite of her. 

One evening it happened that Miss Arnold 
was detained in the city quite late, making some 
final arrangements about the child. The latter, 
being left in Martha’s care, had gone to the great 
leather chair in the library, which was a favorite 
spot of hers, notwithstanding the fact that she had 
been told that it was Mr. Arnold’s special seat, 
and had curled up and gone to sleep. She had a 
large doll in her arms, which had been given her 
by one of Miss Melissa’s friends. Martha seeing 


8o 


THE CHILD AMY. 


81 


that her charge was in for a good nap, had gone 
off somewhere, and complete stillness reigned in 
the room. 

It was interrupted by the entrance of a small, 
stout old gentleman, who came in with a quick, 
decided tread. The lamp on the center table 
was turned low, but it gave sufficient light to 
show off, distinctly and becomingly, the pictur- 
esque figure in the big chair — his own particular, 
inviolate seat, as Mr. Arnold reflected, as he drew 
back with surprised indignation. What in thun- 
der did it mean? He was in none too good a 
humor, anyway, from having been compelled, 
through the non-delivery of a telegram, to walk up 
from the station. He had already expressed him- 
self strongly to the operator, but there was yet 
a certain amount of withheld displeasure to be 
visited on some one — perhaps his sister or the 
servants — and here, at least, was justifiable 
ground for raising a row. 

He was just crossing the floor, to ring the bell 
furiously, when a passing glimpse of the picture 
made him stop and look at the child. She was so 


82 


THE CHILD AMY. 


charming, so unconscious, so deliciously comfort- 
able, that a motive that he would never have 
owned, kept him from disturbing her. He had a 
letter to write immediately, for the evening mail, 
and he suddenly decided to do this before waking 
the child. He hoped Miss Melissa might come in 
and be duly impressed by the spectacle of seeing 
her brother crowded out of his own seat by this 
impertinent usurper, and waiting, with deliberation, 
until the outrage should be accounted for. 

So he seated himself at the table, drew some 
paper toward him, and turned up the lamp. It 
occurred to him that the increased light might 
wake the sleeper, and he glanced across at her. 
He saw, however, only a clearer vision of that 
attractive little figure, still sleeping placidly, with 
her cheek against that of the big doll, and a look 
of serene happiness on her rosy face. He gave a 
low, protesting grunt as he began to write. He 
went on for some time, absorbed and intent, and 
when he had finished and addressed the letter, he 
glanced again toward the big chair, and encount- 
ered, from the small child lying there, the sternest. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


83 


hardest, most repellent gaze that he had probably 
ever received in his life. She had waked and 
taken in the whole situation, but she had not 
moved a muscle, except that a dark and angry 
frown had gathered on her brow. Her face still 
rested against the doll’s, the blank inanity of 
whose china visage only brought out the more 
strongly the concentrated ire of the human face. 

Mr. Arnold was disconcerted, in spite of him- 
self, and with a much more forbearing tone than 
any one who knew him could have imagined his 
using, he said tentatively: 

“ Well ! " 

“You’re a bad — old — man'' said the child dis- 
tinctly, her whole attitude, frown included, remain- 
ing unchanged. 

“Well, upon my word,” said Mr. Arnold, 
startled and half-resentful, “you’re a great one to 
tell me so, in my own house, by my own fireside, 
and in my own chair ! ” ^ 

“ I know it’s your house,” exclaimed the child, 
starting to her feet, still clutching the doll, and 
facing him, erect and defiant, “ I know it’s your 


84 


THE CHILD AMY, 


house, and your fireside and your chair, and I 
know exactly who you are, and maybe you think 
Fm afraid of you, but Fm not! I know what 
you’ve come home to do, and you can jess do it ! 
All right. Take me, and beat me, and kick me, 
and push me out of the door, and down the steps, 
and then come back into your own house, and sit 
down in your own chair, at your own fireside, and 
think how kind you’ve treated a poor little child 
that’s father and mother’s drownded in the ocean I ” 

There was no weakening in her tones, no 
appeal for pity in her looks, as she uttered these 
last words. She stood before him, still frowning 
and defiant, with her chin thrust slightly forward, 
and her figure braced up strongly, as if really in 
expectation of a blow. 

‘‘And who told you who I was, and that Fd do 
all these things ? ” he said, involuntarily putting 
himself on the defensive, and actually condescend- 
ing to enter into an argument with the child. 

“ Nobody told me,” said Amy; “ God told me,” 
she added, dropping her voice to a low, stern tone, 
and hurling the name at him as if she felt he must 



“ YOU ARE A BAD OLD MAN ! ” 







THE CHILD AMY. 


85 


wince under it. “ Miss Melissa said you didn’t 
like little children, and Martha said everybody 
was afraid of you — so I knew you must be bad. 
Miss Melissa said I would have to go, when you 
came home, and I’m ready to go now, but I’m not 
afraid of you. God will keep care of me, and you 
can have your house, and your chair, and your fire- 
side, and I’ll forgive you, too, because you’re my 
enemy. I say in my prayers every night : ‘ God 

bless that bad old man, and make him good.’ ” 

“Well, and how do you know He hasn’t done 
it? Don’t you expect to have your prayers an- 
swered?” said Mr. Arnold, with a sort of grim 
amusement, mingled with surprise. It was the 
first time in his life that any one had ever dared 
to show him his own selfishness, and he was, in 
truth, a good deal shocked at the picture. 

“ If you were good, you wouldn’t hate a poor 
little child like me, for the Bible says ‘ of such are 
the kingdom of Heaven.’ ” 

“ H’m ! ” said the old man drily; “I should 
think youd need to modify a little, to belong to 
that crowd.” 


86 


THE CHILD AMY. 


He spoke lowly, as if to himself, thinking 
probably that the child would not understand; 
but she caught the spirit of his words and 
answered it promptly. 

'‘Yes, I know Tm bad,'' she said, as if stabbing 
herself with the epithet. “ Sometimes, I’m jess as 
bad as I can be, but I’m nothing but a little child, 
and sometimes I don’t know better; but any way, 
I try to get good, and Mamma said I was ’proving. 
But you are big, and you know better, and I don’t 
believe you try to get good, even, or you wouldn’t 
be so mean to a poor little child with nobody to 
love her.” 

“ But I haven’t been mean to you,” said the 
old gentleman, astonished at himself, at the posi- 
tion he was taking. “ What makes you so sure 
I’m going to be mean? I haven’t done anything 
to you.” 

“ But you’re going to make me go away from 
here.” 

“ How do you know I am ? I have not 
said so.” 

Amy looked at his face searchingly. The old 


THE CHILD AMY. 


87 


man bore her scrutiny with a strange and con- 
fused expression. She must have found some 
gleam of hope for her in it, however, for suddenly 
she threw her doll into a chair and flung her arms 
around the old man’s neck. 

“ Oh ! are you going to let me stay ? ” she 
cried delightedly. “ Has God made you good so 
quick? Will you let me live here with you and 
Miss Melissa and Martha, and be so happy? — 
and sleep in a nice, clean bed? — and wash with 
the sweet soap? — and have everything so lovely 
and comfy ? — and not go off to school anywhere ? 
— Oh ! are you ? — are you ? — are you ? ” 

And she drew back, still clasping his neck, to 
read her answer in his eyes, which marvellous to 
tell, had something very like moisture in them. 

Amy understood those tears and knew that 
she had triumphed. Her face fairly glowed with 
happiness as she got up on his knee, and drawing 
his large head down, with her soft little hands, 
kissed first one eye and then the other, until the 
dampness was all gone. 

“ It was just in the midst of this performance 


88 


THE CHILD AMY. 


that Miss Melissa arrived, and stood in the door- 
way, transfixed. The falling of the skies would 
not have astonished her much more. Amy 
caught sight of her, and running forward, took 
her hand and drew her into the room, telling her 
delightedly that she was not to go away to school 
at all, but was to stay here and be happy. When 
Miss Melissa looked into her brother’s eyes, to her 
utter amazement, he did not contradict what the 
child had said. 

“ Who’s been making me out to be a cruel ogre 
that devoured little children. I’d like to know,” he 
said, and just as Miss Melissa was framing an 
answer, the tea-bell rang. Then the child, with 
infinite tact, took a hand of each and moved to- 
ward the dining-room, and neither of the elders 
found anything to say. 

It was almost a miracle that had been wrought, 
but Miss Melissa was too wise and too thankful 
to say very much. Great was the astonishment 
of the servants at the turn affairs had taken, and 
when, after the three were seated at table, the child 
bent her head and asked a blessing, this feeling 


THE CHILD AMY, 


89 


increased. It was the first time such a thing had 
ever been done at that table in the presence of the 
master of the house. He pursed up his mouth 
and manifested a certain amusement, but he did 
not forbid the practice, either then or afterwards. 

When Miss Melissa went up with Amy to 
bed, and the child knelt as usual to say her 
prayers, the concluding clause was changed. 
Now it was, “God bless that good old man and 
don’t let him get bad any more ; ” and, for the first 
time. Miss Melissa realized that all this while she 
had been tacitly admitting the application of op- 
probrious epithets to her respected brother. It 
was too late now, however, to say anything, so the 
fact was passed over in silence. 

Miss Melissa expected every hour to be called 
up to answer before her dreaded judge, for the 
presence of Amy in the house. The first evening 
she simply told him that the child had been picked 
up after a wreck by a sailing vessel, and that no 
clue to her friends had been found, and so the 
little creature had been temporarily commended to 
her care. She braced herself for the rigid cross- 


90 


THE CHILD AMY. 


examination which she expected to follow, but 
hours passed into days and it did not come. Mr. 
Arnold was much away from home, and when he 
came back, in the evening, he accepted the child’s 
presence without comment. 

As long as this state of things continued. Miss 
Melissa agreed to say no more of the scheme of 
going off to school, and little Amy was infinitely 
relieved. 

“ If he’s got good really,'' she said, “ he cer- 
tainly won’t turn me away from his house, and 
maybe he’ll change about Harry, too, and forgive 
him, and take him back.” 

At the suggestion of this idea. Miss Melissa 
found it necessary to warn the child most earn- 
estly, never to venture to name Harry in his 
uncle’s presence, nor to hint at the most remote 
connection between herself and the boy. 

“ If you do, Amy,” she said, “ remember this. 
The result will be that he will treat you as sternly 
as he has treated Harry, and he’ll be angrier than 
ever with him. And besides this, darling,” she 
added, “ he would be furiously angry with me, and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


91 


would probably turn me away from his house, 
too.” 

“ Then I don’t think he’s got very much good 
yet,” said the child, “ but maybe he’ll go on getting 
better and better, now he’s begun. But I want 
you to tell him one thing. Miss Melissa. Harry 
won’t like it at all, if you don’t. I want you to 
tell him that the fisherman that saved me will see 
that my board is paid. Will you tell him that? 
If you don’t, I will have to.” 

Miss Melissa was compelled to promise, as she 
dared not risk a private interview on that subject 
between her brother and Amy, and so she agreed to 
the child’s wish, making her promise in return never 
to talk to him of the circumstances of her rescue. 

The old lady kept her word, and with much 
hesitation, made the desired announcement to her 
dreaded brother. He received it very coldly. 
What was it to him ? — he said. She could do 
as she chose about the child, and if she liked to 
keep her on until something turned up, she could 
make whatever arrangements she chose, without 
bothering him. Miss Melissa caught at these 


92 


THE CHILD AMY, 


words eagerly, and took them to signify a permis- 
sion to give the child her food and shelter, and so 
she could do what her heart had so earnestly 
prompted, and lay by Harry’s earnings for his 
own use on some future day, when he might need 
money for a more honorable and respectable start 
in life than the one he had already made. She 
resolved, however, to keep her secret to herself. 
Harry and Amy, she well knew, would never agree 
to her plan, and so she would let them believe 
that the boy’s original intention was being literally 
carried out. 

Miss Melissa, having now assumed definitely 
the care of the orphan child, it became evident 
to her conscientious mind that she must make 
a firm stand against the self-will, obstinacy and 
temper, of which she had already had glimpses 
in her little charge. She discovered from her 
talks with Amy that even her adored parents had 
had occasional combats and struggles with her, 
and she knew it would be impossible for her to 
escape the same ordeals. Still, the child already 
loved her, and she had, moreover, such a sense of 


THE CHILD AMY, 


93 


justice, and such a passionate desire not to disap- 
point Harry, that Miss Melissa felt she had strong 
weapons at hand for the inevitable contest. 

It happened that the first serious conflict of 
will between Miss Melissa and Amy took place on 
a Sunday, when Mr. Arnold was at home. The 
child had been to church with “ Auntie,” as she 
called Miss Melissa, passing from that simply and 
naturally into the habit of saying “ Uncle ” to her 
brother. The day was very warm and the sermon 
had been long, and Amy was distinctly out of 
temper. She pretended not to hear, when Miss 
Melissa asked her to get her a fan, and then she 
threw her pretty white hat on the floor, looking 
askance at Miss Melissa defiantly, as if expecting 
and half inviting a rebuke for it. Then she sat 
down on the floor herself, crushing beneath her 
her fresh white dress, of which she was usually so 
careful, and using a long pin which she had picked 
up, to scratch the leather of the sofa, making a 
disagreeable noise and leaving some ugly marks. 

At this. Miss Melissa, who had resolved to 
ignore the child’s bad humor as long as possible — 


94 


THE CHILD AMY, 


(for the reason that her brother was reading his 
paper a short distance off, and she did not want 
him to be disturbed) — took the pin out of Amy’s 
hand and told her firmly and decidedly to get up 
and sit on the sofa. Looking like a thunder- 
cloud, the child grudgingly got up, and flung her- 
self sideways on the big lounge, beginning to 
swing her foot backwards and forwards. Seeing 
that Miss Melissa read her book and took no 
notice of her, the child’s foot got to swinging 
farther and farther until it reached to where Miss 
Melissa sat, near the end of the lounge, and gave 
her a little kick. Then it swung slower a few 
times, the child scowlingly watching Miss Melissa 
to see what she would say. But she went on with 
her book and said nothing, at which the foot 
began to swing hard again, and this time gave the 
old lady quite a strong, decided kick. 

Miss Melissa put down her book, moved off a 
little, and turned her face away so that Amy could 
not see it. The very poise of her head showed 
that her feelings were hurt, and Amy divined it. 
The small foot swung slower and slower, and 



THE CHILD SCOWLINGLY WATCHED MISS MELISSA TO SEE WHAT 

SHE WOULD SAY. 



THE CHILD AMY. 


97 


finally stopped still. Then the child wrenched 
herself round and lay flat on her back, with her 
feet hanging over the curved end of the lounge. 

For some moments there was silence. Mr. 
Arnold read his paper, absorbed. Miss Melissa 
had her arm on the back of her chair and her 
cheek resting on her hand, hiding her face. Amy 
made a pretence of being indifferent, and began 
making the church and the steeple and all the 
people,'’ with her fingers. Then she let her hands 
drop and fell into complete silence and stillness. 

Presently she began to talk to herself. At 
first, she spoke very low, but afterwards with 
increasing distinctness. 

“ Don’ nobody love mCy' she said — '‘nobody in 
all the whole, wide work. They jess couldnt love 
me — because I’m so bad. I reckon I’m the 
worse chile in all the whole work. I mos’ know I 
am. Other little children can ’have themselves 
and be good, but I’m so bad nobody cant love me.” 

She paused a moment, but as the silence re- 
mained unbroken, she went on talking to herself, 
still in that low but distinct tone : 


98 


THE CHILD AMY, 


“ All the little children at Sunday-school are 
good cept me. The teacher loves all the rest, but 
she don’ love me. She could’n’, if she wanted to, 
kus I’m so bad. Martha don’ love me,” she went 
on, “and Uncle don’ love me, and I know God 
don’ love me, because He hates people that’s bad. 
God could n love a bad chile like me. He loves 
the little white angels that’s so good. Martha 
don’ love me,” she began again, “and Uncle 
don’ love me, and I know God don’ love me — 
but I think it’s mighty hard on a poor little chile 
when her own dear Auntie don’ love her.” 

She waited a moment after saying this, and then 
turned slightly to look up at Miss Melissa, whose 
averted head, however, had not moved a muscle. 
Seeing this, Amy continued her soliloquy : 

“ There ain’t anybody in all the work that 
loves me,” she went on ; “ maybe if my papa and 
mamma were living — maybe they d love me. 
They use ter love me, when they were ’live, but 
they did’n’ know how bad I was. Oh! I wonder 
what my papa and mamma would say if they 
knew what I did — if they knew I was so bad 


THE CHILD AMY, 


99 


that I kicked my own dear, kind, good, sweet, 
darlin Auntie ! ” 

The little voice was thickening up, and at the 
last words she burst into a wail, and turning, 
flung herself into Miss Melissa’s arms, which 
opened wide to receive her. 

The scene ended with earnest pleas for par- 
don, and ardent kisses on both sides. 

Miss Melissa thought she had been the only 
one aware of the child’s behavior, but if she could 
have seen through that thick newspaper she would 
have discovered that her brother had listened 
attentively to every word that had been uttered. 


VI. 


As the months of summer passed, and little 
Amy's presence became a silently accepted fact in 
the household, Miss Melissa discarded, for the 
present, her idea of sending the child to school, 
and charged herself with her instruction. Amy 
was both bright and ambitious, and her desire to 
evidence a distinct improvement in her weekly 
letters to Harry, was a sufficient incentive to spur 
her on to patient effort. 

The boy had told her to write to him every 
week, and had given her instructions how to send 
the letters. Miss Melissa was frightened at the 
idea of any complicity in a correspondence with 
the ostracised nephew, and so she did not take the 
least apparent cognizance of these letters. It was 
pleasing to the child's sense of dignity that her 
letters to Harry, and his to her, were entirely be- 


lOO 


THE CHILD AMY. 


101 


tween themselves, and so she only gave Miss 
Melissa little scraps of information, from time to 
time, and was secretly delighted to find that she 
was not expected to do more. The letters were 
sent through the fisherman’s wife, to whose house 
Harry had first taken the child, and they both felt 
sure of her keeping faith. The boy had impressed 
Amy with the necessity of keeping from his uncle 
all knowledge of his connection with her, and this, 
in addition to Miss Melissa’s warning, was enough 
to make Amy very wary. 

Harry, stimulated by the thought of having 
some one dependent on him, went resolutely hard 
to work. Every cent that he made, he hoarded 
carefully, treasuring it up and counting it fre- 
quently, instead of either throwing it away reck- 
lessly, or spending it on pleasures that did him no 
good, as had been formerly his habit. At the 
moment he had heard Amy express such fear and 
horror of a drunken man, he had made up his 
mind to cut short the custom of drinking with 
his companions, and he stuck to his resolution 
pluckily. He had to stand a good deal of rough 


102 


THE CHILD AMY, 


joking, and even ridicule on account of it, but his 
simple statement that he needed his money for a 
purpose for which he cared much more than for 
drinking beer and whiskey, had its effect, and as 
he would not allow himself to be treated without 
treating in return, he gave up drinking altogether. 
This course interfered to some extent with the 
popularity he had formerly enjoyed among his 
companions, but that was perhaps not to be re- 
gretted. It made it easier for him to keep away 
from their card-playing and other sports, which 
were not conducted on a basis which an honorable 
lad could take part in without self-reproach. It 
surprised Harry to discover what a strong habit of 
using bad language he had unconsciously grown 
into, for now, whenever he would utter profane or 
unclean words, the image of little Amy would rise 
before him, looking at him with reproachful, won- 
dering eyes, and give him check. What if he 
should some time use such language in her actual 
presence? The thought of the pain it would in- 
flict upon her made his heart beat, and he resolved, 
with all his might, to cure himself of this habit, too. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


103 


It was more for the sake of the child’s safety 
and happiness than for any other reason that 
Harry determined not to go to the house at any 
time when it was possible to meet his uncle. He 
knew Amy would let him know if the old man 
went away on any of his business trips, and he 
waited for such an occasion before seeing her again. 

The child’s letters to him were a curiosity. At 
first, she used to write them in printed lettering, 
but she soon got ashamed of that, and with great 
pains, and much consulting of her copy-book, she 
acquired facility enough to enable her to express 
the few simple sentences which were required. 
But by degrees the letters grew longer. It was 
her ambition to have each a little longer than the 
last, and the amount of delight that Harry got out 
of these weekly communications was astonishing. 
Another delight was to answer them — a perform- 
ance also executed with care, for since he had be- 
come aware that there was some one that looked 
up to him, he had an incentive to do his utmost in 
whatever he undertook, which had added a won- 
derful stimulus to his life. 


104 


THE CHILD AMY. 


He had felt it his duty, soon after the rescue of 
the child, to put an advertisement in a New York 
paper, which he hoped might reach the eye of any 
relatives she might have who would be interested 
in reclaiming her. That hope had subsequently 
passed into a dread, but, as the months went by 
and nothing came of it, he felt freer in the thought 
that the child was to remain his especial charge. 
She never put any tinge of sadness into her letters 
to him, and he had the joy of believing that he 
had done for her what would make her happy for 
the present and the future, too. 

For the most part, the child was happy, though 
fits of sadness came occasionally, as well as fits of 
badness. Miss Melissa loved her so well, how- 
ever, that she had infinite patience with both of 
these. 

One day Amy was seated in her little rock- 
ing-chair near Miss Melissa’s great one, knit- 
ting industriously on a worsted comforter which 
Auntie was teaching her to make for Harry, in 
time for the coming of cold weather. The child 
looked up suddenly, and said : 


THE CHILD AMY, 


105 


Auntie, isn’t it sad to think that it would 
make Uncle angry if he knew I loved Harry ? ” 

Miss Melissa assented, but made no comment. 
Presently the child went on : 

And do you think it would make Harry 
angry if he knew that I loved Uncle? Because — 
don’t you know ? — I do. I really, truly do. Auntie, 
and I want to tell Harry so when I see him.” 

‘‘ I think perhaps you’d better not,” said Miss 
Melissa dubiously. 

“ But, Auntie, Uncle’s good. I know he’s not 
all good — but then, nobody is. I know he’s been 
cruel and unkind to Harry — but if Harry would 
be good and sweet to him, maybe he’d get better 
still. Harry thinks he’s bad and wicked,'" uttering 
these words with her usual emphasis — but you 
don’t. Auntie — do you?” 

‘‘ No, dear — of course not. I’m sure Harry is 
mistaken ; but I don’t think we could make him 
see, and I fear it would only do harm if we tried 
to. But whatever you do, darling, never let any- 
thing make you speak to Uncle about Harry. I 
know that would ruin everything.” 


106 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ I cant do that,” said the child, with dignity, 
“ because IVe given my word. I promised Harry 
I wouldn’t.” 

On Sunday afternoons it was Mr. Arnold’s 
habit to walk around the place, and enjoy a 
leisurely inspection of the well-kept flower and 
vegetable gardens, the orderly paths and grassy 
lawns of his prosperous home. These rambles 
were always solitary ones, as it never seemed to 
occur to him to ask Miss Melissa’s company, and 
she would not have ventured to intrude. It was a 
source of endless amazement to her to watch the 
temerity with which Amy would approach her 
awful brother, and she started in astonishment as 
she saw the child, one balmy Sunday, catch up her 
little white sun-bonnet and run down the steps 
after him. 

“Wait, Uncle,” she said, with an amusing con- 
fidence that her society would be welcome. The 
next moment a tiny hand was slipped into his, 
and, looking down, he met the upturned gaze of a 
bright, confiding little face sunk in the becoming 
shadow of the sun-bonnet. The strings were tied 


THE CHILD AMY. 


107 


in a bow under the rosy-skinned chin, and a 
healthier, happier visage the old gentleman had 
never looked upon. A sudden feeling made him 
clasp the small hand close, and the pair walked 
off down the pleasant pathway as naturally as 
two friendly children. It was a sight that struck 
Miss Melissa dumb, as she watched it from the 
window. 

Amy chattered away like a young magpie, 
causing the old man to chuckle inwardly with de- 
light at the funniness, and occasionally the shrewd- 
ness of her remarks. She rarely spoke what could 
be called baby-talk, and usually pronounced her 
words with a distinct correctness that was remark- 
able in a child of her years, and when she would 
now or then miscall or misplace a word, she car- 
ried it off with such dignity that it would have 
seemed the height of rudeness to be amused. 

“Why, Uncle — don’t you know,” she began 
now, in a very confidential tone, “ there’s a boy in 
our Sunday-school that’s got the chitten-pots. It 
was on his face and the teacher sent him home. 
He looked so ugly, and I pitied him so.” 


108 


THE CHILD AMY, 


“ Because he looked ugly? ” 

“Yes — but more because he is so poor. It 
must be dreadful to be poor — don’t you think so?” 

This inquiry, coming from this source, seemed 
to amuse the old gentleman, for he drew in his lip 
as if to conceal a smile, but did not speak. They 
walked on in silence for some time, Amy now and 
then darting away to pick a flower for a bouquet 
she was collecting for Miss Melissa. When they 
had reached a small summer-house and sat down 
to rest, she surprised the old gentleman by looking 
up from the bouquet she had been arranging, and 
saying suddenly, with her gravest air : 

“ Uncle, how much money have you got? ” 
“Do you mean in my pocket?” said Mr. 
Arnold, pulling out a handful of loose silver. 
“There it is.” 

“No — I mean in the world,” said the child, 
waving her arm comprehensively. 

“ Oh ! I don’t know exactly — a right tidy little 
sum, altogether.” 

“ Does that mean much or little? ” 

“ Much.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


199 


Well, Fm glad of it,” she said with an air of 
satisfaction, as she bunched her little sprigs and 
rounded out- her bouquet. '‘There’s so much to 
do with money.” 

Before he had got the better of the smile that 
rose to his lips at this sage speech, she surprised 
him still farther by looking straight at him and 
saying simply : 

“What do you do with yours? Tell me 
about it.” 

“ I do a great many things,” he said at last, 
rather evasively; “I pay for the things we eat, and 
the fires we sit by, and the house we live in ” — 

“ Oh ! I don’t mean that” said the child, as if 
she found all this utterly uninteresting. “ Of 
course you pay for the things you have for your- 
self! But tell me about the poor people you help 
— and the little children, who never had anything 
pretty, that you get lovely things for — and the 
sick people you pay the doctors to cure — and all 
those things. Papa and Mamma used to do all 
that, though they did not have much money, and 
you have a great deal. Go on. I love to hear 


110 


THE CHILD AMY. 


about it. It s better than all the stories in the 
books, because it's true.” 

She put down the finished bouquet and sidled 
up to him, resting her head against his arm, and 
looking up into his face expectantly. 

“ Go on,” she said again. 

Poor old Uncle! A sudden sense of regret 
came to him. A feeling was kindled in his breast 
which he had never felt there before. He would 
have given a good big sum out of the money 
under discussion, if he could have thought of 
some story, such as was desired, to satisfy that 
earnest gaze and those confident, insistent tones. 
But he racked his brain in vain. Was it possible 
— the knowledge forced itself upon him with a 
disturbing force — that he had never in his life 
done one of these little acts that the child spoke 
of? — that he had even allowed Miss Melissa the 
liberty of taking money for the morsels of food 
and drink consumed by this little orphan ? For 
the first time it occurred to him how monstrous it 
would be to accept this at the hands of poor fisher- 
men. He had never troubled his mind to think 


THE CHILD AMY, 


111 


of it before. He felt pained and horrified to have 
nothing to say in answer to the child. 

‘‘ ril tell you what I’ll do,” he said presently, 
seeing that he must speak; “ I’ll give you all this 
silver to do what you please with. You can take 
it to the child with the chicken-pox, or do with it 
just what you choose. Then next Sunday after- 
noon, when we go to walk, you shall tell me just 
how you spent it, and by that time I’ll be ready to 
tell you some of the stories you like, too. It’s get- 
ting late now, and I think we’d better put it off.” 

‘‘Very well,” said the child, perfectly satisfied 
with this arrangement; ‘‘I suppose it would take 
too much time, now. Let’s come to the summer- 
house and tell stories like that every Sunday 
afternoon. That’ll be splendid.” 

She held out her apron for the coin, and let it 
drop into it with a merry jingle. He felt a sudden 
pleasure at the sound. 

“ You’ll have to give me all the money to do 
things with, won’t you ? ” she said, “ so you’ll do 
all the good. But it don’t matter — does it? — 
because I’m nothing but a little chile, and course I 


112 


THE CHILD AMY. 


can’t have money unless it’s given to me. When 
I get big and have money of my own, I’ll spend 
that.” 

This seemed to settle the matter to her entire 
satisfaction. Her confidence in her future, her 
evident belief that when she was grown up money 
would come to her, was, under the circumstances, 
pathetic, and the old man felt himself strangely 
touched by it. As they were walking back to the 
house a sudden thought occurred to him which 
made him say : 

Ah — Amy — suppose we don’t say anything 
to anybody at all about this plan of ours — com- 
ing to the summer-house to tell those stories, I 
mean ? Suppose we don’t tell the stories to any- 
one but just each other? Wouldn’t that make it 
nicer — don’t you think ? ” 

“O, yes!” said the child delightedly, the idea 
of mystery catching her at once. Not even 
Auntie ?” 

Not even Auntie. Don’t let’s tell a soul. 
You must promise me you won’t. I won’t tell 
you the stories unless you do.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


113 


Amy gave the promise willingly, to the old 
man s great relief. It was strange, but he felt a 
sense of shame and awkwardness in the new rdle 
he proposed to play. 

When he reached the house, he sought out 
Miss Melissa at once, and, with a sudden return to 
the curt and somewhat imperious manner natural 
to him. said : 

“ It is to be hoped, Melissa, that you’ve never 
carried out that ridiculous idea you mentioned, of 
taking board from the fishermen for this child. 1 
won’t allow any such nonsense as that. I don’t 
choose to be treated as a pauper or a skinflint, and 
I distinctly forbid it. You understand?” 

It was a relief to him to assert himself in this 
manner, after the contrasting experience of the 
last hour. Amy had run away to get ready for 
tea, and so she did not see it. As for Miss 
Melissa, she rejoiced inwardly at having her 
brother’s approval of what she had been doing 
without it, and that manner of his she was used 
to. Every cent that Harry had supplied she had 
carefully put by for his future use, but she was 


114 


THE CHILD AMY, 


too wise to reveal the fact. She kept the secret 
locked in her own heart, and even Amy was still 
left under the impression that Harry paid for her 
maintenance in the house. 

Miss Melissa watched with daily increasing 
wonder, the growing intimacy between her brother 
and the little waif so unexpectedly thrust upon his 
notice. Their interviews were always of Amy’s 
seeking, but Miss Melissa was shrewd enough to 
see that her stern and self-sufficient brother, though 
he would not be guilty of any show of demonstra- 
tion, was growing fond of the child, and was 
pleased at her evident taste for his society, and, 
more than all, at the absolute freedom and fear- 
lessness of her attitude toward him. 

During all this time Amy was generally a very 
good child, but the bad humors which seemed to 
have been born in her, were not to be suddenly 
rooted out, though Miss Melissa did her part in 
the work very conscientiously, and the child her- 
self undoubtedly made a struggle, and was always 
very sorrowful and repentent after she had been 
naughty. Her chief trouble was her intense love 


THE CHILD AMY. 


115 


of having her own way. Sometimes she would 
obey Miss Melissa absolutely, and be in a sweet 
humor for a long time, and then a sudden turn 
would come, and one of her cross, rebellious fits 
would have possession of her. It took a great 
deal of patience to deal with these, but Miss Me- 
lissa had that, and, above all, she had a great love 
for the little fatherless and motherless child, and 
she knew the best service she could render her, 
was to teach her to give up her own will when it 
was wrong for her to indulge it. Miss Melissa 
always tried to avoid the necessity of correcting 
Amy when Mr. Arnold was by. It humiliated 
the child and it vexed the old man, . though 
mingled with this feeling, in the mind of the lat- 
ter, there was sure to be a certain amount of amuse- 
ment at the little creature’s comical behavior. 

One afternoon poor Miss Melissa had a long and 
trying scene with Amy, and finding that the child 
was thoroughly out of temper, and only pouted 
and fussed and fumed at every effort that was 
made to please her, she resolved to stand it no 
longer, and ordered Amy to go into the dressing- 


116 


THE CHILD AMY, 


room and stay there until she had made up her 
mind to be good. Amy cried and stamped and 
shook herself angrily, but went. She had been 
too well trained to be openly disobedient, but she 
could manage to put as much reluctance and pro- 
test into the act of obeying as could well be im- 
agined. She slammed the door behind her with a 
loud bang, and then, throwing herself on the floor, 
kicked noisily and screamed out, at intervals, in an 
angry and fretful way that was extremely trying 
to hear, and she rolled about and wriggled herself 
into the most uncomfortable heat, tangling her 
pretty hair all over her tearful little face. 

This, state of things lasted a long time. Miss 
Melissa was sure it was intended to provoke some 
comment from her, but she stood it without taking 
any notice. By and by *the noise subsided, and 
after quite a long silence the dressing-room door 
was thrown open, and Amy appeared. She did 
not cross the threshold, however, but stood with 
her hands behind her, leaning against the jamb, 
and scowling at Miss Melissa like a concentrated 
thunder-cloud. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


117 


“Well,” said Miss Melissa quietly, “ have you 
come to tell me you’re good now ? ” 

“ No,” said the child, setting her small teeth, 
and speaking in a voice of deep, low-toned defiance; 
“no — I’m not good. I’m bad. I’m jess as bad 
as I can be!' 

“ But you want to be good, Amy, don’t you ? ” 
Miss Melissa began. 

The child interrupted her. 

“ No ; ” she said positively, “ I dont want to be 
good. I want to be bad. I want to be jess as 
bad as bad can be!' 

She spoke through her clenched teeth, her eyes 
glaring, and her brows contracting, with the 
expression of a little fury. 

“Very well; you can go back into the dress- 
ing-room till you change your mind,” said Miss 
Melissa. “ When you stop wanting to be bad, 
and want to be good, you can come out, but not 
before.” 

With a great glare of rage, the child flung her- 
self back into the smaller room, and the door was 
banged to. Then the kicking and thumping and 


118 


THE CHILD AMY. 


fuming began again. This time it lasted longer 
than before, but as Miss Melissa gave no sign of 
yielding, at last the door re-opened, and in it 
appeared again the little dark-browed fury. 

“Well,” said patient Miss Melissa, “are you 
good now ? ” 

“ No, I’m bad ; and I don’t want to be good. 
I’ve tried to want to be good and I can’t. I jess 
want to be nothing but badd 

“ Then you can go back again.” 

The child, still frowning, and with no relaxa- 
tion of the defiance of her figure and no softening 
of the rebellion of her tone, said doggedly : 

“ Maybe if you were to wash my face and 
hands I might want to be good.” 

Miss Melissa, concealing her surprise at this 
suggestion, quietly complied, feeling it quite pos- 
sible that physical discomfort might be some part 
of the trouble. So she led the child to the wash- 
stand, sponged her face and hands in cold water, put 
some clean-smelling powder on, carefully brushed 
the shining locks, and pinned them in a knot high 
up on her head, and then asked encouragingly: 


THE CHILD AMY. 


119 


Now, dear, are you good? ” 

The scowl had somewhat lightened, but it was 
not yet gone, and after waiting a moment, as if to 
take the moral temperature, the answer came : 

“ No, Tm bad yet — but I think I want a little 
bit to be good ; ” and as if to test the truth of this 
impression, she returned of her own accord to the 
dressing-room, closed the door behind her much 
less noisily, and remained completely silent. 

Miss Melissa waited and waited. Ten minutes 
must have passed, when suddenly the door was 
thrown open, and the child skipped into the room 
light as a fairy, with a face like sunshine, and run- 
ning up to the bewildered old lady threw her arms 
around her neck, and cried delightedly : 

“ I’m good now. Auntie. Kiss me and make 
friends.” 

When the hugging and kissing had been 
ardently gone through with, Amy, with an ear- 
nestness pretty to see, said : 

“ Auntie, I want to tell you something. I 
made up my mind about it while I was in the 
dressing-room just now. It’s this : I’m never 


120 


THE CHILD AMY. 


going to give you any more trouble, and Fm never 
going to cry any more, as long as I live, in my 
life-time/' 

“ Don’t say that, darling. It is never well to 
make resolutions it’s impossible to keep.” 

But I’m not, Auntie. I’ve made up my 
mind. Indeed, I’m never going to cry, not ever 
any more, at all! Unless” — she broke off sud- 
denly, as if struck by a thought — “ unless you were 
to die. Auntie. 'Course I’d cry then — because it 
ain’t any harm for a little girl to cry when her 
Auntie dies. She couldn’t help it, then — could 
she ? ” 

Miss Melissa found this utterly irresistible, 
and began to laugh. Amy took her laughter to 
mean a general re-establishment of happiness and 
harmony, and so the little scene ended. 


VII. 

As time went on, impressions deepened, and 
the bond between Amy and her two old friends 
got stronger and stronger. So also did that be- 
tween the big boy and the little girl, and so, also, 
alas! did the estrangement between Mr. Arnold 
and his nephew. It had been reported to the old 
man that Harry had been seen in the neighbor- 
hood, and that he had adopted a rough fisherman's 
life. The information had made him furiously 
angry, and he spoke to Miss Melissa of the boy 
in a manner that convinced little Amy that the 
mere mention of his name was dangerous, and 
made her feel very sad and gloomy about the 
future. His face, always a homely one, was cruel 
and hard as he commanded Miss Melissa to hold 
no communication with the boy, and even extorted 
a promise from her that she would not open any 

I2I 


122 


THE CHILD AMY, 


letters he might write her. Then he called all the 
servants, who, as he well knew, had formerly been 
fond of the wayward, impulsive lad, and forbade 
them, also, to hold any communication with him, 
or to carry any letters to him or from him. Of 
the child who stood by, pale and speechless, he did 
not take count, and when, after he had gone off to 
the town. Miss Melissa, in abject terror, called 
Amy to her, she was surprised to find that the 
little creature’s silence proceeded rather from reso- 
lution than from fear. 

“ Harry shall not come to this house any 
more,” she said, “where such cruel things are said 
of him. I thought Uncle had grown to be a bet- 
ter man, but he is bad and hard to Harry, who I 
know is good and splendid!' 

“ O, my dear child ! ” said poor Miss Melissa, 
“ my brother is a terrible man when he is roused. 
You don’t know. You’ll have to let Harry know 
in some way that you can’t see him any more.” 

“Not see Harry any more!” exclaimed Amy, 
as her eyes flashed fire. “ Not see my dear, good, 
darling Harry, that saved my life I — and that 


THE CHILD AMY. 


123 


works for me ! — and supports me ! — and loves 
me so ! I’d like to see any old man alive keep me 
from seeing Harry. What’s he got to do with me, 
I’d like to know ? Harry pays my board, and you 
teach me and take all the trouble. What does he 
do — except, except ” — here her voice changed and 
her lip began to tremble — “except he’s been good 
and kind to me — and told me lovely stories in the 
summer-house — and I thought he was good ” — 

The conflict of feelings was too much for her. 
She broke down and began to cry, softly and 
restrainedly, hiding her face a few moments in her 
little handkerchief, and then wiping her eyes reso- 
lutely, and turning round calmly to Miss Melissa: 

“ I’ll tell you what I’ve made up my mind to 
do, Auntie,” she said. “The next time Harry 
comes, I will go to meet him in the woods and 
tell him all that Uncle has said. I think he 
would want to know it.” 

“ He knows it already, child,” said Miss 
Melissa, tearfully. 

“Yes; but I want to tell him how Uncle feels 
about his coming to his house for any reason at 


124 


THE CHILD AMY. 


all, and I won’t have Harry to come where he’s 
not wanted.” 

'Ht would be better if he wouldn’t come to the 
house at all,” said Miss Melissa; “ it frightens me 
almost to death to think his uncle might come 
back some time and catch him.” 

The child looked at her with a certain coldness. 
She could understand crying from sorrow, but she 
had no comprehension of tears that came from 
fright. ‘‘ When I get my letters from Harry, now, 
I won’t tell you anything about it. Auntie,” she 
said, with dignity; “you might be afraid that 
Uncle would find out you had seen them.” 

“ Maybe it would be better, darling,” said the 
old lady, with evident relief, “ but don’t you think 
you’d better tell Harry not to write to you any 
more, and not to try to see you? Just think how 
angry with you my brother would be ! ” 

“And do you suppose I’m afraid of his 
anger?” said the child, with flashing eyes; “if 
you think so, you’re mistaken, and so is he. I 
stay here because Harry wants me to, and because 
he pays for me, and Uncle’s got nothing to do 


THE CHILD AMY. 


125 


with me, and I’d like to tell him so, too. I must 
tell Harry about what has happened, and see what 
he wants me to do.” 

It was evident that she held herself account- 
able to Harry, and to no one else, and so Miss 
Melissa said no more. 

The old man’s conduct on this occasion, made 
a very sad impression on the child. It was the 
first time that she had seen the harshness and bit- 
terness that was in him, stirred into activity, and 
that it was directed against her darling Harry, 
would probably have alienated her from him, but 
for the fact that he had done so much recently 
which acted as a partial antidote. The Sunday 
afternoons in the summer-house had developed 
wonderful things. Both of them had stories to 
tell, which they had made during the week, and 
each listened to the other with delight. Uncle’s 
were far more beautiful than hers, the child 
thought, because his opportunities of finding out 
and helping misery were so much greater. He 
insisted upon the strictest secrecy, so Amy bound 
herself to tell no one, and so could not even give a 


126 


THE CHILD AMY. 


hint to Harry, as she would so have liked to do. 
Miss Melissa, also, was kept in complete igno- 
rance of the import of these Sunday conferences, 
though she knew that they were Amy’s special 
delight. Once, Uncle ordered the buggy and took 
her, still under the strictest pledge of secrecy, to 
see the little lame girl for whom he had bought a 
nice chair, in which she could roll herself all about, 
and be comfortable, while she looked at the pict- 
ures in her new books. Amy found that the child 
did not even know the name of her benefactor, 
and she admired Uncle for his lack of ostentation. 
She little dreamed that his new departures were so 
opposed to the habits of his past life, that he 
would have been ashamed to acknowledge them 
before any one but her. Still to her they had 
revealed the fact that this old man whom every 
one considered so hard and severe, had, in reality, 
a kind heart. No one had ever made a successful 
approach to it until this little child, taking good- 
ness and pity for granted, had stimulated these 
dormant faculties which no one had ever shown 
any belief in before. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


127 


It was, therefore, all the more painful a shock 
to her to find his heart still so bitter to Harry — 
Harry who was so brave and strong and splendid, 
and who might have been the joy and support of 
the declining years of this childless old man ! 
Amy pondered over it all a great deal, and from 
being at first angry and indignant toward Uncle, 
she grew presently more gentle and more hopeful, 
and made a strong resolution not to stop in her 
efforts to bring the two together. This desire had 
now become the great longing of her life, but she 
dared not speak of it. Her intuition told her that 
that would probably defeat her end. 

From the day on which Amy heard the fiat 
concerning Harry go forth from Uncle’s stern 
lips, the lad had not come again to the house. 
Through the little fisher-boy, whom Harry em- 
ployed as confidential messenger, the child had 
written him that she wanted to see him on a mat- 
ter of importance, and arranged a meeting in the 
wood. There, while Harry sat beside her on a 
great fallen tree-trunk, she had told him what his 
Uncle had said. She grew very indignant in the 


128 


THE CHILD AMY, 


recital, until she found that she was adding fuel 
to the quickly-kindled flame of Harry’s wrath, 
and then she changed and tried to pacify and 
palliate. 

“ Harry,” she said entreatingly, taking his 
strong, work-hardened hand in both her little soft 
ones, '‘you think Uncle is worse than he is. I 
can’t tell you how I know it, because it’s a secret, 
but I do know that he has a kind, good heart,” 

“ Oh ! you can’t tell me anything about him” 
said the boy; “ I know him through and through, 
at last. I used to love him when I was a little 
chap, and look on him as a sort of father. He 
was good to me, then — before I ever had any will 
of my own ; but the moment I began to think for 
myself at all, and to choose to do some things he 
didn’t do, and not to do some things he did do — 
he thought he’d make me into a little exact copy 
of himself, by flogging me. Auntie and the ser- 
vants, and everyone he had around him, gave up to 
him so absolutely that he wouldn’t stand the least 
opposition. He expected the same from me, but 
he didn’t get it, and, by George, he never will ! If 


THE CHILD AMY. 


129 


he’d been like a father to me, I’d have been like a 
son to him ; but if my father, whom I never 
knew, was anything like him, I’m not sorry that I 
escaped the pleasure of his acquaintance.” 

“ O, Harry ! how can you talk so ? ” said the 
child, throwing her arms around his neck, and 
stopping his mouth by putting her cheek against 
it. Her recollection of her own parents was such 
a sacred ideal in her mind that it cut her to the 
heart to hear him speak contemptuously of his 
dead father. 

“ Well, then, I won’t, Amy, if it troubles you. 
I’m a harsh, rough fellow, and not worthy of your 
love.” 

But this Amy could not bear. She hugged 
him tighter and tighter, and vowed he was the 
best, the bravest, the kindest, the gentlest, the 
dearest boy that ever lived, and the absolute con- 
viction with which she spoke reminded Harry of 
her high ideal of him, and of his determination to 
try to live up to it. 

She only saw Harry at quite long intervals, as 
they had to watch for chances, and the boy was 


130 


THE CHILD AMY. 


much more at sea than on land. Every time, 
however, he seemed taller and stronger and hand- 
somer and braver than the last, and he was always 
neat and well-dressed now, although his clothes 
were very plain and simple, as he economized in 
every possible way, to save money for the child. 
He regularly transferred to Miss Melissa all the 
money he made, telling her it was to be used for 
whatever needs Amy might have, and insisting 
that she should be provided with everything that 
the daughter of a rich man could need. Miss Me- 
lissa allowed him to believe that he paid every 
expense, but she constantly assured him, what was 
true, that he brought more money for this purpose 
than there was any necessity for. “Very well,’' 
he said ; “put it by, then, and let it be kept for her in 
the future.” He had no other purpose to which to 
devote his earnings, and by the industry and 
steady habits he had now made the rule of his life, 
he earned a good deal. He also had opportunities, 
in making his cruises, to do a little business for 
himself, in buying commodities at one port, which 
he sold for a larger sum at another. There were 


THE CHILD AMY. 


131 


many ways in which he contrived to earn money, 
and the little store in Miss Melissa’s hands grew 
rapidly. 

Time passed, and the seasons followed each 
other monotonously. There were few events in 
Amy’s quiet life, the chief variation being the 
occasional visits of Harry, which he now always 
made her in the wood. She worked away at her 
lessons with Miss Melissa, sometimes patient and 
industrious, and sometimes the reverse,' but in the 
long run she was making great progress, and the 
mere hint of sending her away to school was 
always sufficient to revive her flagging energies. 
Of that she had a horror. The loss of her parents, 
and the breaking up of her childish home seemed 
to make her cling the more to the new home and 
friends who had taken their place. Harry was 
always first and foremost in her affection, but next 
to Harry, came Uncle. Perhaps she was uncon- 
scious of this fact herself, but it was so. Miss Me- 
lissa, with her timidity and lack of independence, 
was not a person to command the strong love 
which the child was so capable of bestowing, and 


132 


THE CHILD AMY. 


Amy loved her with a certain unconscious conde- 
scension. Her subservience to her brother, where 
she knew him to be in the wrong, and the coward- 
ice of her position toward Harry, were a trial to 
the child. It often troubled her that she should 
have to conduct her intercourse with him clandes- 
tinely, but Harry had ordered it so, and she recog- 
nized his right in the matter. Besides, she looked 
forward to a day when all should be revealed, and 
when she would have the joy of avowing to Uncle 
her love and loyalty to the nephew he had treated 
so harshly, while Miss Melissa, as she well knew, 
dreaded nothing in the world so much as the dis- 
covery of her having even the most timid inter- 
course with the boy. 

Amy’s great hope was to implant a gentler 
spirit in the hearts of both uncle and nephew, and 
she always found her efforts successful, except 
when she mentioned to either of them the name of 
the other. Harry would invariably get angry and 
excited, and say the hardest things, and as for 
Uncle — the only time she had ventured to touch 
upon the subject with him, he had shown her a 


THE CHILD AMY. 


133 


degree of sternness and harshness which she had 
never believed possible from him to her, and he 
told her, in so many words, that if she ever dared 
to mention that name in his presence again he 
would have nothing further to do with her. 

“Very well,” said the child; “you can keep me 
from talking about it, but you can’t keep me 
from thinking.” 

The old man was amused at this dark threat, 
in spite of himself. 

“Think just as much as you choose,” he an- 
swered, with an effort to be severe, “ only keep 
your thinking to yourself, if you please, young 
lady; and I’d advise you, for your own good, to look 
for some more profitable subject of reflection.” 

Amy saw there was need of great patience 
with them both. She was wholly and altogether 
on Harry’s side, and she would not, for the world, 
have had him to make overtures to the uncle who 
had treated him so unkindly, but she couldn’t get 
it out of her head that a man who had been 
capable of so much kind feeling toward others, 
should be permanently obdurate to his own flesh 


134 


THE CHILD AMY. 


and blood, especially such a young kinsman as 
her Harry ! So she continually hoped that in 
time Uncle’s heart would soften, and he would 
make the amende to his nephew. Her desire was 
to bring about a state of feeling in the boy that 
would make him willing to respond when the 
overture came. 

As the months passed, Amy’s silent efforts 
and aspirations seemed to be growing all the time 
more difficult of accomplishment. The breach be- 
tween the uncle and nephew seemed to be fixed 
and decided, and the child, for all her longing, 
could find no place for hope and comfort concern- 
ing her dear project. Harry was never mentioned 
except in whispered talk between Miss Melissa 
and Amy. And Uncle, although he continued to 
have beautiful stories to tell in the summer-house 
of kind deeds he had done to others, seemed to 
have his heart shut closer than ever to his unfor- 
given and unrepenting nephew. 


VIII. 

At last the time came which marked the close 
of Amy’s first year’s residence with her new 
friends. She had come to them a few days after 
her sixth birthday, and now, as the date came 
round again, the idea occurred to Auntie to give 
her a party. When the subject was mentioned to 
Amy she was in ecstasy, but when Miss Melissa 
began to call the names of the children who were 
eligible for invitation, Amy frowned. They were 
the little sons and daughters of Mr. Arnold’s and 
Miss Melissa’s friends, and many of them had 
been to see Amy and invited her to their houses ; 
but, strange to say, the child had never shown any 
pleasure in their society, and was evidently much 
more at ease in that of Uncle and Auntie. She 
could give no reason for this fact when ques- 
135 


136 


THE CHILD AMY, 


tioned, beyond the apparently inadequate ones, 
that “ the girls wore such bunchy dresses,” and 
“ the boys were not at all like Harry ; ” but she 
managed to convey a fine contempt for the whole 
collection. 

“ I don’t like children like that,” she said de- 
cidedly. “ They are unpolite to their nurses, and 
they laugh at the way I talk, and they put too 
much in their mouth at once, and laugh and holler 
and grab at the table, and they treat me as if I 
wasn’t a bit nicer than they are.” 

These views, which much amused her hearers, 
were the final result of a great deal of silent dis- 
approval, which made itself felt in Amy’s manner 
whenever any one had spoken of a child’s party 
which she had recently attended, and from which 
she had come home noticeably unenthusiastic. 
This was now accounted for; for Amy showed 
her own careful training by observing with the 
most critical disapproval, the ill-breeding of less 
fortunate children. 

“ No ; I won’t have any of them at my party,” 
she said resolutely ; ‘T’d rather not have any party.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


137 


“ But, darling, whom would you ask ? ” said 
Miss Melissa; “these are the only children we 
know.” 

“But Uncle and I know some others — don’t 
we. Uncle?” said Amy, a radiant idea suddenly 
lighting up her face. She gave the old man a lit- 
tle significant nod, to indicate that he need not 
fear she would reveal too much. “ For Uncle’s been 
with me to see some of the little poor children in 
the neighborhood,” she went on, “ that I begged 
him to take me to see, when we would go to walk 
together; and what I’d like to do is to have all 
these boys and girls to come to my party. Oh ! 
may I do that. Auntie ? May I, Uncle ? ” she cried, 
capering about with glee. “We could have some 
beautiful games for them on the lawn, and give 
them a splendid supper, and send them all home 
in carriages! Oh! it would be just splendid; do 
let me ! ” 

There was nothing mean about this young 
person. She always did things on a grand and 
expensive scale, and was not at all in the habit of 
counting costs or difficulties. Fortunately for her. 


138 


THE CHILD AMY. 


she had friends at hand who were willing and able 
to humor her. 

When Uncle saw the eager face, the clasped 
hands, the imploring eyes turned toward him. 
Auntie felt, from the look on his face, that the 
thing was accomplished. It only remained to 
discuss the preliminaries, and the two entered into 
these at once. An intuition had taught Miss 
Melissa to follow the example of Amy, in never 
showing any surprise at the new departures of her 
brother, so she accepted it as a matter of course 
that he should interest himself ardently in the 
entertainment of all these little outcasts, some of 
whom were known to her through her labors in 
the Mission Sunday-school. 

“ I like poor children a great deal better than 
rich,” said Amy, “ unless they are really nice chil- 
dren, and know how to behave like little ladies 
and gentlemen. But none of those at the party 
did. I’m sure our little children wouldn’t make 
fun of me just because I called biscuits biscuits, 
instead of calling them crackers ” (with an accent 
of contempt), “ and said the fire ought to have 


THE CHILD AMY, 


139 


some more coals put on it, and didn’t talk squeaky, 
through my nose, like them.” 

When the day for the party came, it proved 
mild and pleasant, so that Amy’s ardent desire to 
have the table set under the trees could be carried 
out. She directed everything, the servants show- 
ing a perfect willingness to take their orders 
from her. 

When little Miss Amy descended the great 
staircase, arrayed for the birthday festivities, she 
was truly a winsome object to behold. She was 
dressed in one of her long-skirted, short-waisted 
white frocks, and to this she had added a cap 
and kerchief, modelled after an old-fashioned pict- 
ure of a child which she had coaxed Auntie to 
imitate for her. Both were of sheer white stuff, 
and the cap surmounted her fluffy curls with as 
harmonious an effect as the frilled kerchief, which 
was crossed on her breast and tied behind, gave to 
her little body. She knew that Uncle and Auntie 
were watching her from the hall below as she 
descended, and her sweet face was shy with pleas- 
ure. She stepped down with much stately dig- 


140 


THE CHILD AMY, 


nity until, when she neared the bottom, Uncle 
opened his arms. Then she forgot to be stately, 
and jumped right into them, giving him a hearty 
hug. As she turned to Auntie, to bestow the 
same tribute upon her, she said ecstatically : 

‘'Oh! Tm so happy. Tm so happy! Do you 
think Papa and Mamma can see me?” 

“Yes, Tm sure they can,” said Mr. Arnold, to 
Miss Melissa’s intense surprise, for she had never 
heard him say anything like this before. Little 
Amy, however, was bringing out a great many 
new sentiments of his that were matter for aston- 
ishment, although she was unconscious of the fact. 
Now, as she clung about Miss Melissa’s neck, she 
whispered softly in her ear : 

“ O, Auntie, if Harry only could be here! I 
don’t think I could bear to have this party without 
him, if he wasn’t away at sea so that he couldnt 
come ! ” 

The shadow that had crossed her face was 
soon dispelled, however, by the arrival of the first 
batch of children. It was pretty to see Amy’s 
reception of them. There were twenty in all, and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


141 


she knew every one of them by name, and she ran 
out to meet them, and encouraged and chatted 
with them in a way that was a contrast to her 
manner with the children whom she met on more 
equal terms. She was now perfectly sociable and 
at her ease, and her tact made them all feel as she 
did. Some of them were ill or crippled or de- 
formed in some way, but most of them were 
merely eligible through poverty. They were — 
with very few exceptions — clean and tidy ; a fact 
partly due to Miss Melissa's labors to that end 
beforehand. 

They were all taken first to the big drawing- 
room, where Miss Melissa played for them on the 
piano, while many of them listened with delight. 
But Amy thought this too one-sided an arrange- 
ment, and she presently proposed that Miss Me- 
lissa should play the accompaniment and let them 
all sing a hymn. Auntie was afraid this would 
give too solemn a character to the entertainment, 
but when she looked at the pleased faces of the 
children, she saw at once that Amy’s intuition had 
been correct, and so they stood up, and when Amy, 


142 


THE CHILD AMY. 


in her sweet bird-voice began the familiar Sunday- 
school hymn, with its joyous, hearty melody, they 
all burst into singing, with faces that fairly 
beamed with pleasure. It was one thing to sing 
in Sunday-school, and quite another to lift their 
voices in this magnificent room, in which they 
were favored guests, with Miss Melissa to play 
for them, and Amy (whom they all looked upon 
as a sort of mysterious fairy princess, who could 
bestow any gift she chose, and was kind to every- 
one), to lead their singing, and encourage them 
with her bright words and smiles to do their best. 

When the hymn was ended. Miss Melissa rose 
from the piano, and insisted that Amy should sing 
alone for the children. The old lady was very 
proud of her pet s really exquisite little voice, and 
also of the fact that she could play her own accom- 
paniments. At first Amy objected, and looked at 
Miss Melissa reproachfully, but when she discov- 
ered that the children really wished it, she glanced 
around, saying : 

“Do you really want me to? Would you 
really like it ? ” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


143 


And when every one of them said yes, in a 
chorus, she brought a hassock and stood upon it, 
and when Miss Melissa had arranged the children 
all around the piano, so that they might see as 
well as hear the prima donna, Amy played a lit- 
tle prelude of very simple chords, and began to 
sing. Her great piece was a cradle-song which 
her mother had taught her, and in which she could 
yet hear the subdued voices of both her young 
parents singing together to her, as she dropped off 
to sleep. This memory always made her childish 
tones pathetic as she sang the dearly-familiar 
words and tune. 

So she began, low and tenderly : 


“ Sleep, baby, sleep, 

Thy father is watching his sheep, 

Thy mother is shaking the dreamland tree. 
And some of the dreams may fall on thee. 
Sleep, baby, sleep.” 


She spoke so distinctly that it was like listen- 
ing to a pretty story, and when she came to the 
second verse, and sang : 


144 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ Sleep, baby, sleep. 

The big stars are the sheep. 

The little stars are the lambs, I guess, 
And the lady-moon is the shepherdess. 
Sleep, baby, sleep,” 


she looked at the children and raised her eye- 
brows, in smiling inquiry, as if to say: “You 
didn’t know that before — did you?” 

And they all looked as if they thought it was too 
wonderful and beautiful for anything in the world. 

Then she sang the last verse : 


“ Sleep, baby, sleep, 

Our Saviour loves His sheep. 

He is the Lamb of God on high, 
Who for our sins came down to die, 
Sleep, baby, sleep.” 


Everyone was delighted, and when she finished. 
Uncle lifted her bodily from the hassock to his 
shoulder, and bore her triumphantly ^ from the 
room, at the head of the procession which Miss 
Melissa now arranged, and marched out of the 
house and across the lawn to where the table had 


THE CHILD AMY. 


145 


been set. One poor child had to go on crutches, 
but she looked as if crutches didn’t matter much 
to-day; and another had to be lifted. But every- 
one seemed anxious to be helpful, and this was 
easily done. 

It was a beautiful, bountiful table that was set 
under the great trees, on the smooth lawn grass, 
and when the children were comfortably seated 
around it, Amy, who was at the head, bowed her 
golden curls and high cap and said her usual 
little blessing, with a simple reverence that every- 
body felt. 

Then what a supper followed ! — delicious 
bread and butter and rich country milk, and great 
slices of golden sponge cake, and velvety ice- 
cream, and all the fruit they wanted ! When they 
had finished this, the grown people disappeared 
from the scene and the children were left to play. 
Some of them ran and romped, and swung in the 
hammocks and swings, and climbed the trees like 
monkeys, and had a free and unrestricted hour of 
fun, while those whom sickness and trouble had 
cut off from such delights as these gathered in a 


146 


THE CHILD AMY, 


circle around Amy on the grass, and she told them 
stories. Thrilling and wonderful they must have 
been, for the poor, pinched faces grew radiant with 
delight, and odd little chuckles of glee would 
interrupt the narrative now and then. 

Uncle and Auntie came up through the trees, 
and stopped to look at this animated picture. 
They stood and listened until the story came to 
an end, and then Uncle set up a clapping that 
made the children jump. But when they under- 
stood what it meant, they all clapped too, until 
Amy ran and caught Uncle’s hands and made him 
stop, though she looked tremendously pleased, 
if she did. 

Then Auntie asked all the children (for hear- 
ing the noise, the others had come up) to go over 
to the summer-house where something was to take 
place that even Amy knew nothing about. Uncle 
wouldn’t answer a word as she walked along at 
his side, plying him with questions. But when 
they got to the door of the summer-house — the 
very place where on so many Sunday afternoons 
he and Amy had talked and planned and told 


THE CHILD AMY. 


147 


stories about some of these very children — be- 
hold, there was a beautiful table all set out, and 
in the middle was an immense cake with seven 
lighted candles around it, and all along the table’s 
edge were pretty little baskets, each one contain- 
ing a nice present, and marked with the name of 
the child for whom it was intended. At the head 
was one just like the rest, marked “For Amy, 
from Uncle and Auntie,” and in it were two little 
packages, one containing a lovely gold collar pin, 
and the other a little gold thimble, just large 
enough to fit her finger. 

While Amy was looking at her presents the 
other children were examining their less splendid 
ones, with equal delight. Every face was beam- 
ing with joy, and as Amy reached up and put one 
arm around Uncle’s neck and the other around 
Auntie’s, and drew both silver heads down against 
her golden one in a big hug that almost choked 
them, there were tears of very joy in her eyes. 

“ All the children’s presents are from you, 
darling,” said Auntie ; “ they are everyone marked 
with their names, and then, ‘ From Amy.’ ” 


148 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ O, Auntie! I’m almost too happy,” said the 
child. “ Of course I’m the happiest one, because I 
got the presents and gave them, too ; and I believe 
the giving’s as good as the getting:” 

“ I believe I think it’s better,” said Uncle, look- 
ing as if he meant a great deal by the words. 
The fact was, giving was a new form of pleasure 
to Uncle, and getting was one that had somewhat 
palled upon him. As he looked at these happy 
faces, and realized how happy he had been in help- 
ing to make their pleasure, he resolved to have 
this joy a great deal oftener in the future. 

And now the cake had to be cut, and Amy was 
held up by Uncle while she did it, putting a large 
slice into each child’s basket, and remembering of 
her own accord to put by a piece for each of the 
servants. 

The evening closed with a magic-lantern exhi- 
bition in the darkened dining-room, and when that 
was over the children’s souls were so brimful of 
joy that it would have been really dangerous to 
try to crowd any more into them. 

So they were all stowed away in comfortable 


THE CHILD AMY, 


149 


carriages, as Amy’s magnificent vision had fore- 
seen, and driven off home, as happy a set as 
ever was. 

‘‘ O, Uncle! I kissed them every one,” said 
Amy, when the last carriage was gone. “ I loved 
everybody so, I couldn’t help it. I shot my eyes 
right tighty and held my bref, when I kissed little 
Mollie Higgs. Of course I had to kiss her, to 
keep from hurting her feelings, ’cause she’s a poor 
little child, and maybe she hasn’t got any soap — 
but I don’t think she was very clean!' 

She said the last words with a mysterious 
reluctance, that implied a full knowledge of the 
fact that she was accusing a fellow-creature of a 
dark and direful crime, and was bound in honor 
to mention palliating circumstances. 


IX. 

MYS’ voice was so clear and pretty, 
and her playing so correct, that it 
seemed to Miss Melissa that she 
ought to have music-lessons, but 
she was afraid to suggest it, lest 
the child’s practicing should prove 
disturbing to her brother One morning, how- 
ever, to her great surprise the old gentleman 
mentioned it himself, rather rebuking her for 
not having done a thing so obvious. Miss 
Melissa found herself in the unexpected position 
of making excuses for her remissness, and prom- 
ised meekly to correct her error at once. A 
teacher was accordingly engaged to come three 
times a week and give Amy a lesson. »The child 
got on so well, and practiced with such enthusiasm, 

I, so 



THE CHILD AMY. 


151 


that it was a pleasure to see her. One evening 
when Mr. Arnold was reading his paper, Amy, 
over in the drawing-room, began to play her little 
exercises and chords, and Miss Melissa, looking 
up half-frightened, said she would go and stop her. 

‘'What for?” said the old man, rather gruffly. 

“ I was afraid she would disturb you.” 

“ What’s to disturb me in that? Let the child 
play. I’m not an ogre. I think it must be due to 
you that the child considered me one from the first.” 

So Amy practiced unforbidden, and her play- 
ing was so well-modulated and correct that the 
old man would sometimes stop and listen to it as 
if it pleased him, and Miss Melissa at such times 
would seem to catch a glimpse of a different man, 
such as her brother had been long ago, before the 
making and hoarding of money had become the 
absorbing interest of his life. 

One morning Amy had been rummaging in 
the big old garret — a favorite occupation of hers 
— and she came flying downstairs in great de- 
light and excitement, with an old-fashioned flute in 
her hand. 


152 


THE CHILD AMY. 


O, Auntie ! whose is this ? ” she cried ; “ Papa 
used to play on the flute, and Mamma accom- 
panied him, and I could play one little piece with 
him, too. Who used to play on this ? ” 

‘‘ It has been many and many a year since any- 
one has touched it, darling, but your uncle knew 
how to play on it very sweetly, once.” 

Amy said nothing, but returned to the garret 
with her treasure, and then began the most ener- 
getic efforts to get the flute in order. She puffed 
and blew into the hollow tube, and shut one eye 
and sighted down it for cobwebs and dust — and 
she got rags and oil and chalk, and polished wood 
and silver until it looked like quite another object 
from the shabby old instrument she had found. 
Then, with furtive caution not to be observed, she 
took it down into the drawing-room and hid it 
under some music on the piano. 

At supper that evening she was very ingra-^ 
tiating to the old gentleman, and afterwards, she 
slipped her hand into his, and gently steered him 
for the drawing-room instead of the library, where 
his evening papers lay. Miss Melissa followed, 


THE CHILD AMY. 


153 


but she did not go into the room. Instead, she 
paused outside and peeped through the crack of 
the door. She saw Amy run and get the flute 
and give it to the surprised old man, saying 
eagerly : 

“Look, Uncle, I found your flute up in the 
garret, all musty and cobwebby, and I cleaned it 
up for you nicely, and now you can play some 
duets with me. Go on — I used to play one with 
Papa, and I can do a great deal better now.” 

She sat down to the piano and nodded her head 
for him to begin. He stood holding the little in- 
strument in his hand, and looking helplessly from 
it to the child, and then back again. There was a 
sort of dazed look in his eyes, which seemed to 
clear away and leave behind it a stronger likeness 
to the brother she had loved in youth than Miss 
Melissa had seen for years. He raised the flute to 
his lips and felt for the stops with his fingers. A 
long hollow sound was the only result of his 
effort, and he dropped his arm, saying in a sort of 
hopeless way : 

“ It's no use, child ! it s broken.” 


154 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ Well, if it is, it can be mended, can’t it? ” said 
Amy promptly. 

“ I don’t know,” he answered vaguely, still with 
that perplexed look on his face. 

“Well — I know! and it can. You’ll have it 
mended to-morrow — won’t you. Uncle? — and 
play duets with me ? ” 

The coaxing tone was irresistible, and Miss 
Melissa was scarcely surprised to hear the old 
man promise. Such wonders had this child al- 
ready wrought in him, and so all-compelling was 
her spell, that even the marvel of seeing her 
brother go back to the music which he had not 
touched since a great sorrow had darkened his life, 
was not too much for the arts and wiles of Amy 
to accomplish. 

The next morning Uncle actually took the 
flute into town with him, and when he came back 
in the evening he brought it mended, and in good 
order. Amy danced with joy, and after a good 
many false starts on Uncle’s part, and encourage- 
ments on the child’s, he succeeded in recalling the 
melody of “ Believe me, if all those endearing 


THE CHILD AMY, 


155 


young charms,” and Amy caught the chords to it 
almost instantly. Miss Melissa kept out of the 
room, and she had too much sense to express any 
surprise, especially as Uncle looked ready to take 
her head off if she should do so. 

After this, they practiced together every even- 
ing, and Uncle remembered “ Edinborough Town,” 
and “ Annie Laurie,” and several other old-fash- 
ioned airs which Amy quickly learned the chords 
to. It is probable that the old gentleman’s busi- 
ness acquaintances would have refused to believe 
their senses, had they seen the sharp old business 
man, who spent his days so shrewdly at work in 
his counting-house, passing his evenings in com- 
pany with this bewitching child, who looked up at 
him so confidingly, and kept time to his music 
with her correct and simple little chords and with 
charming nods of her bright curly head. No one 
knew of it except Miss Melissa, but there was no 
one to whom it could be, at once, so surprising 
and so sweet. 

Amy had a strong instinct which warned her 
not to tell Harry about the duets. She felt that 


156 


THE CHILD AMY, 


the boy would be all the more angry and resentful 
if he realized that the Uncle who had been so 
harsh and cruel to him could be gentle and 
companionable with others. Amy knew well by 
this time, that nothing but some deep upheaval of 
their natures could ever heal the breach between 
these two, and without being exactly conscious of 
her own purpose, she was, nevertheless, working 
hard to try to soften both these turbulent spirits, 
so that one day, when the touch-stone was put, the 
hearts of each would be in a measure prepared. 

One afternoon Amy in an idle moment picked 
up a newspaper, and an advertisement of a concert 
caught her attention. She saw that some great 
musicians, among them a wonderful flute-player 
and a great violinist, were to give a performance in 
town that very evening, and, with her usual decid- 
edness, she made up her mind to go. With this 
view, she made a very careful toilet for tea, and 
even went to the kitchen without consulting Miss 
Melissa, and told the cook to be prepared to hurry 
supper if Mr. Arnold should wish to have it 
earlier than usual. 


THE CHILD AMY, 


157 


When it was time for him to come, she put on 
her hat and walked down to the gate to meet him. 
When the coachman stopped in obedience to her 
sign, and she had placidly climbed in by the side 
of Uncle, she told him her plan and made her re- 
quest with such a joyful confidisnce that almost 
before the old gentleman realized what was hap- 
pening she had told the coachman to feed the 
horses and bring the carriage back to the door in 
an hour, and had flown to the kitchen to say that 
Mr. Arnold did want supper hurried, and had 
rushed upstairs and told Auntie, with much calm- 
ness and satisfaction, that she and Uncle were 
going in to town to the concert. Miss Melissa 
drew a long breath and said, ''Well!'' with a 
hopeless giving up of the problem, and in a short 
while she saw her brother and the child drive 
away. 

Amy was in a state of delicious excitement 
when they got out at the great concert-hall, blaz- 
ing with lights and swarming with people. They 
were lucky enough to find two good seats still left, 
and her heart simply jumped with delight as she 


158 


THE CHILD AMY, 


followed the old man down the long aisle. She 
looked positively bewitching in her plumed hat 
and picturesque little gown, and her flare of curly 
hair and the color in her dimpled cheeks were 
attractive enough to win for her much admiring 
comment. 

Even seen from far above, this golden mass of 
hair caught the eye, and as the music ebbed and 
flowed, on violin, flute and piano, and the audience 
sat still and absorbed to listen, a boy in one of the 
cheap seats, way up in the gallery, had his attention 
caught by it, and sat with flushed cheeks and fixed 
gaze, looking at the couple down in the orchestra 
chairs, who had no consciousness of him. They 
were only listening to the music, which he no 
longer heard. Only confused, and it seemed to 
him haunting sounds came to his ears as he sat 
there, a rough, young workman, surrounded by 
others of his class, and saw this prosperous- 
looking, bald-headed old man and this exquisite, 
princess-like little child, seated among a lot of fash- 
ionable and luxurious people, and looking as if 
they belonged too exclusively to their class to 


THE CHILD AMY, 


159 


have any possible connection with the poor, rough, 
hard-worked creatures in the gallery seats. He 
cared nothing about the old man. He might go 
or stay where he chose — the farther off, in every 
sense, the better — but about the child he did care, 
madly, passionately, and his heart resented hotly 
her being placed beside the miserable old wretch 
that he hated so heartily, and seeming to belong so 
absolutely and naturally there, instead of near to 
him. This was the thought that kindled such a 
rage of protest within him. Amy seemed now in 
her proper and fitting place, and how would she 
seem if transferred to his environment ? The 
thought was ridiculous. He looked about him at 
the rough, ill-dressed, and in many cases, dirty set 
in the gallery, and then at the dainty creature 
down below, and he almost laughed aloud in bitter 
scorn. What had he to do with that little prin- 
cess, or fairy, or whatever was the farthest possi- 
ble contrast to his own grim condition? It gave 
him a sort of triumph when he thought that his 
money, his hard-earned, carefully-hoarded money 
had paid for those fine and dainty clothes she 


160 


THE CHILD AMY. 


wore, and he exulted at the sight of their richness. 
He would have been willing to have worked nights 
as well as days to have paid for this, and the 
thought that the food which she ate also, had been 
paid for by him, was another source of exultation 
to him. What hurt and cut him, though, what 
took half the sweetness and satisfaction of it all 
away, was the evidence of friendliness and con- 
fidence between these two — the old man whom 
he hated and regarded as his bitterest enemy, 
and the child whom he had so recently adored 
and felt to be his greatest friend. At the present 
moment he did not have this feeling; a sense 
of distance and estrangement was upon him, and 
he felt a sudden anger toward the child. 

Poor Harry ! He had come home from his 
cruise — an experience of more than ordinary hard- 
ness, and labor, and privation — with the thought 
of Amy like a brilliant star in his heaven. It was 
too late when he had landed to hope to see the child 
this evening, so he had sent her a note appointing 
a meeting in the wood for next day, and having 
seen the notice of this concert, had determined to 


THE CHILD AMY. 


161 


spend the tedious evening of waiting in giving 
himself the treat of hearing some good music. 
The prices were high, however, and so anxious 
was he to keep every cent for Amy that he pos- 
sibly could, that he contented himself with an 
admission to the gallery. He was very happy 
there, in anticipation of the musical treat, and his 
joy of meeting Amy the next day, until he caught 
sight of her so unexpectedly, so much sooner than 
he had thought, and under circumstances which 
made it a pain rather than a pleasure to see her. 

He never thought of the music after that. He 
was conscious only of the pair on whom his fer- 
vent, excited gaze was fixed. In the intervals 
between the pieces, the child would turn her beau- 
tiful little face, with trustful affection toward 
the old man, who looked down at her and an- 
swered her with a kindliness which Harry, if he 
had ever seen it there, had long ago forgotten. 
He thought of that face with only anger and 
tyranny expressed in it, and he bitterly resented 
the fact that the old man could pretend to this 
child to be what he knew so absolutely he was 


162 


THE CHILD AMY. 


not. But what he resented more, was Amy’s atti- 
tude toward his uncle, and her evident liking 
and friendliness toward one whom she knew to be 
his bitterest enemy and injurer. So angry did 
this idea make him that he determined not to go 
to see the child to-morrow, but merely to send the 
money he had brought. A gleam of satisfaction 
came to him when he thought how much it was — 
a sum so large that even Amy would be compelled 
to realize that he amounted to something, if he 
could earn such a sum as that. He told himself, 
grimly, that all the use that Amy had for him was 
to make money for her, so that she might live and 
dress like a high-bred little lady, and he decided 
that in future he would let this be the limit of 
their intercourse. He would not force his rough 
and common presence upon her, and it would 
probably be a relief to her ! 

These and many more resentful, moody 
thoughts absorbed him, giving him a sort of 
bitter satisfaction, and making him feel a certain 
luxuriousness in this ignoble sort of self-pity. 
When the concert ended he slipped deftly through 


THE CHILD AMY. 


163 


the crowd and went downstairs, and waited behind 
a pillar to see the pair go out. They came along 
presently, and he felt a burning pang of isola- 
tion and despised love when he saw her cling- 
ing affectionately to the old man s hand, and look- 
ing up at him while she poured forth her delight 
at the experience she had just had. She looked to 
him as beautiful as an angel of light, but in spite 
of this his heart hardened toward her, and he 
liked to think of the blow he was going to strike 
her to-morrow by sending her the money in a cold, 
hard note, and telling her he had not time to go to 
see her. He had still enough belief in her affec- 
tion for him to realize that it would be a blow, 
but he felt like hurting her when he saw her 
friendliness with the being he so hated. 

He went to sleep that night nursing and 
stimulating his anger in every way he could, and 
he waked next morning with almost as painful and 
angry feelings. He resolved, however, that he 
would go to Amy instead of sending — if only for 
the sake of seeing the effect of the blows which he 
still had it in his heart to deal hen 


CHAPTER X. 


When Amy came home from the concert in a 
state of beatific delight, Miss Melissa followed her 
to her room, and with the timidity and hesitation 
for which the child had conceived a fine scorn, put 
into her hands a note from Harry. Amy, true to 
her resolve, did not open it until she was quite 
alone, but when she had done so she had the joy 
of learning that her beloved Harry would make 
her a visit to-morrow in their usual meeting-place 
in the woods. This news capped with glory her 
evening of pleasure, and she went to sleep bewil- 
deringly happy, and waked in that delicious state 
composed of sweet memories of the past and de- 
lightful anticipations of the future. Harry had 
been gone an unusually long time, and she had 
been ardently wishing to see him, and never had her 
heart reached out to him with greater love and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


165 


confidence and sympathy than now. His note — 
written before he had seen her at the concert 
— was full of the same hearty affection and joy 
which she felt in the anticipated meeting. 

Amy's little heart was almost painfully full of 
happiness as she dressed herself with great care, 
and taking some school-books with her, so that 
she might show Harry what progress she had 
made, went off to the appointed meeting. 

She was early, but she wanted to be there first, 
and her heart was too eager with love and longing 
to bear to wait at the house. She sat down on the 
fallen tree, with her face turned in the direction by 
which he would come, and waited, with a quick- 
beating heart. It seemed a very long time. She 
had no watch, but she was sure it must be long 
past the hour. Still he did not come, and as she 
sat there, wondering what kept him, she saw him 
coming between the distant trees. It seemed to 
her that he walked slowly; and, with a sudden 
apprehension that he might not be well, or some- 
thing unfortunate might have happened to him, 
she sprang up and flew lightly toward him, not 


166 


THE CHILD AMY. 


stopping till her arms were clasped around his 
neck. 

“ My blessed, precious, darling boy ! ” she cried, 
kissing and clinging to him. “ Are you well ? 
What have you got to tell me ? Is anything the 
matter ? ” 

Suddenly she became aware that her loving 
greeting had not been returned — that Harry’s 
hands were in his pockets, and that he was look- 
ing at her coldly. 

Instantly she collected herself and drew away, 
standing before him still and erect, with her face 
suddenly quiet and very pale. 

“Are you ill, Harry? What is the matter?” 
she said. 

“ No, thanks; I’m quite well,” he answered in a 
hard, unnatural voice ; “ a poor working-boy like 
me can’t allow himself the luxury of sickness. 
That’s for some others,” he added, with a sort of 
sneer. 

She had not the faintest comprehension of his 
meaning, but she was stung to the quick by his 
manner, though too proud to tell him so. It was 


THE CHILD AMY. 


167 


with a good deal of pride in her manner and tone 
that she said to him gently : 

“If you are not ill, what is it, Harry? Are 
you angry — angry with me? Have I done any- 
thing to offend you ? ” 

“ You ! he said with a little laugh, “ how 
should you offend me? What have I got to do 
with you ? ” 

The tears sprang to her eyes, and she felt them 
stinging and smarting there, but she forced them 
back, as she answered quietly : 

“ You have all to do with me, Harry. I owe 
you more respect and love than I owe to anybody. 
If I have done anything to you, you have a right 
to be angry — but I haven’t, indeed I haven’t ; I 
love you too dearly ! ” 

Even these words of confidence and affection 
failed to move him. He stood a little way off, 
with his hands in his pockets, and a look of sullen 
defiance on his handsome face. He had purposely 
come in rougher clothes than he usually wore 
before Amy, and his whole dress and manner and 
expression made a strong contrast to the dainty 


168 


THE CHILD AMY. 


little creature facing him, with her pretty, delicate 
clothing, her refined, blonde beauty, and her 
expression of pathetic gentleness and distress. 

“ You love me too dearly, do you ? ” he said, 
with a sort of sneer; “Well, I did use to think you 
loved me and I counted on it a good deal. I might 
have known if Td stopped to think, that / had 
nothing to do with love. I thought I had learned 
that lesson, till I saw you and you made me be- 
lieve I was mistaken. I know it now, though, 
once for all; what has love got to do with a crea- 
ture like me? I wasn’t made for it and I’ve been 
a fool.” 

Amy was bitterly hurt. Her pride, of which 
she had so large a share, was wounded, too, but 
there was something in these words of Harry’s 
which conquered it. To be without love, to feel 
one’s self cutoff from love, to her the supreme good 
of life, seemed so pitiable and sad a thought that 
her heart melted with tenderness as she came 
closer to him, and lifting her sweet face to his, 
said with a rush of affectionate feeling for him : 

“ O, Harry ! what dreadful words. You were 


THE CHILD AMY. 


169 


made for love, and you’ve got it, too, in floods and 
oceans full ! Look at me, and tell me if you don’t 
know that I love you.” 

She put out her little hand, and he felt a move- 
ment of surrender stir his heart, but at that 
moment there flashed across him the memory of 
last night, when her gentle looks had been turned 
upon his most hated enemy, and that little hand 
had been slipped into his. He would not touch it, 
but said in a yet harder tone : 

“And if I do know it — what does your love 
amount to ? Do you suppose I want anybody to 
love me who loves that old brute and skinflint who 
is my greatest enemy ? Do you suppose I want 
the touch of your hand and the sweet looks of 
your eyes, when I remember how both of them 
were turned with love on him, last night? No, 
by thunder ! I want no love that is shared by 
him ! ” 

Then the meaning of it all flashed over Amy, 
and she knew she had something to deal with that 
would require all the tact that love could give her. 
She saw her way very clear before her, though, and 


170 


THE CHILD AMY, 


she felt fearless and strong. She felt that first of 
all, she must put herself in entire possession of 
the facts of the case, so she said : 

“ Who told you anything that happened last 
night?” — but almost before she could finish, he 
burst out : 

“ No one told me. I saw, myself. It would 
have taken the evidence of my own eyes to con- 
vince me of that ! ” 

“ Of what ? ” she said quietly. 

“ Of the terms of affection between that old 
rascal and you ! ” he said angrily. 

“ Are you sorry, then, that he is kind to me 
and fond of me, instead of treating me badly and 
hating me ? ” 

I’ve got nothing to do with what he does or 
doesn’t do. It’s you I’m thinking about. It’s a 
little more than I can bear to have you dividing 
your love between him and me.” 

Harry,” she said gently, “ that is not true, and 
I think you know it.” 

“Then you don’t love him, really?” he said 
eagerly, 'for his heart was longing to make friends 


THE CHILD AMY, 


171 


with her and to put an end to this unnatural situ- 
ation. “ Tell me so, and Til believe you ! ” 

For the first time there was love in his eyes, 
and she saw that he was ready to be her own dear 
boy again, at a word, or even a nod from her, but 
she could not give it. 

“ Harry,” she said gravely, “ I said it was not 
true that I divided my love between you and 
Uncle” (she saw him wince at this word), “and it 
is not true. I love you more, far more than all 
the other people in the world put together, but my 
heart is not so poor and little that it can love only 
one. I love you best, always, but I love Auntie, 
and I love Martha, and I love lots of little chil- 
dren and grown people, too, and I love ” — 

She hesitated a moment, and he said brusquely: 

“ Go on.” 

“Uncle,” she said fearlessly, looking him in 
the eyes. 

“ You do — do you ? ” he answered, his face 
livid and his jaw set, “ then I’ll excuse you for 
the future, from the trouble of loving me.” 

“ You are talking nonsense,” she said ; “ you 


172 


THE CHILD AMY. 


can’t make people love or not love. No one can 
do that, even in themselves, and it is foolish to try 
it with others. You can no more stop my loving 
you than you can stop my loving Uncle. You 
can no more help my loving him, just half-way, 
and thinking him cruel and mean and unkind in 
some things, than you can help my loving you 
with all my whole heart and thinking you the best, 
the noblest, the kindest, the most generous, and 
very dearest person in all the whole world.” 

She saw a little gleam of pleasure come into 
his eyes at these words, spoken in her ardent way, 
but he forced himself to remain stern and defiant. 
She sat down on the log where they had had so 
many sweet and loving talks, and motioned him to 
come to her side. He stood still, determined not 
to change a muscle of body or of features. 

“Harry, do come,” she said coaxingly ; but he 
did not move. 

She got up and went toward him, clasping each 
of his strong brown wrists with her little white 
hands. 

“ I’ll make you ! ” she said, looking up at him 


THE CHILD AMY. 


173 


with a confident smile, and pulling with all her 
might. It was so ridiculous to see her putting 
her strength against his, and to feel the slightness 
of the hold w^hich represented all her force, that he 
could not resist the temptation to humor her, and 
he allowed his powerful young body to give to 
her energetic pulling. When she got him to 
the log, however, the spirit of anger and rebel- 
lion within him arose once m.ore, and he re- 
sisted her efforts to make him seat himself. He 
remained bolt upright, and when she begged and 
coaxed him to sit down he decidedly and briefly 
refused. 

“ ril make you ! ” she said again, and jumping 
up on the log, that made her almost on a level 
with him, she put her arms around his neck and 
tried with all her force to pull him down. She 
might as well have tried to bend one of the great 
trees about them. He remained erect and rigid 
and his expression changed no more than his 
figure. She saw that it was useless, and suddenly 
her face and figure both relaxed until the little 
arms about his neck were soft and coaxing, and 


174 


THE CHILD AMY, 


the little face so close to his was wreathed in 
smiles of irresistible witchery. 

“ Harry,” she said in her most wheedling 
tones, ‘‘sit down and talk to your Baby, and be 
sweet, and make her happy. Please, dear Harry 
— won’t you ? ” 

But he made a great effort and steeled his 
heart, as he shook his head and answered, no. 

''Please” she said coaxingly, and she pulled 
down his head with sudden force, and kissed his 
cheek. 

“ Won’t you no7V ? ” she said imploringly, 
drawing back and looking at him. But he shook 
his head. It was hard to resist the mingled look 
of love and entreaty in her eyes, and the coaxing 
smile on her lips, but he had inward promptings 
that held him up to it. 

Then her whole face changed. From being 
the merest sprite of a child, she had one of the 
sudden accessions of womanliness to which she 
was subject, and with great dignity and gravity 
she unclasped her hands from his neck, and went 
and sat down on the most distant end of the log. 


THE CHILD AMY, 


175 


This sudden change surprised and disconcerted 
him. An awkward silence followed, during which 
Amy sat with her hands clasping her knees and 
her eyes fixed on the distance, her face expressing 
dignity, pride and calm. The boy found himself 
suddenly forced into the position of taking the 
initiative. He was resolved, however, not to 
weaken. 

“ What are you waiting for?’' he said. 

“To see if you have anything more to say 
to me.” 

“ Then you have nothing more to say to me ? ” 

“ No. I have told you the truth and you don’t 
believe me.” 

He felt a shock of compunction, and the great 
deep pity that he always felt for the orphan child 
whom he had rescued, suddenly sprang up within 
him as he saw the little figure sitting in its atti- 
tude of dignified dejection on the end of the log. 

“ Amy,” he said more gently, “ I do believe you.” 

“ Then you don’t love me, and I don’t care 
about anybody’s believing me if they don’t love 
me.’’ 


176 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“ But I do love you.” 

She would not look at him, but she shook her 
head in serious incredulity. 

‘‘ Don’t you believe me f ” he said. 

“I don’t understand,” she answered “I don’t 
see how any one can be deliberately unkind to a 
person they love.” 

He heard a little tremor in her voice, and he 
saw two large drops which she was too proud to 
wipe away, roll down her cheeks. His heart 
smote him and the defiance within him was 
almost gone. He remembered his grievance 
though, and said protestingly : 

“You are unkind to me when you love' and 
make friends with the man who is my enemy, and 
has done me all the harm he could, in every way.” 

He expected her to explain or excuse herself, 
but she said nothing. He noticed the little droop 
in her figure and those two neglected tears on her 
cheek, and the sight softened him so that he came 
nearer, and said almost lovingly : 

“ Perhaps you are sorry for it now, Amy; if you 
are, only say so, and I will forgive you.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


177 


But Amy neither spoke nor moved. 

“ Are you sorry, dear ? ” he said gently. 

“ No,” she answered, with quiet decision. 

He started back, hurt and disappointed. 

‘‘You can’t love both of us,” he said you 
must choose between us.” 

She looked up at him with her brows con- 
tracted into the severe frown that he knew so well, 
and a gleam of the old defiance in her eyes. 

“ You can’t make me do what I don’t want to do, 
and what I don’t think is right,” she said, “ and you 
certainly can’t change my love. I love you and I 
can’t stop loving you, but I love Uncle — a little, 
too. Sometimes I love him a good deal — when 
he is kind — but there is one thing I always 
hate — and that is his being cruel and mean to 
you. I won’t choose whether I will love you or 
Uncle, because I will love you both — but I know 
which one I will mind and be obedient to. If you 
want me to come away from here and live some- 
where else, I am willing. I can never be happy 
anywhere, if you are not pleased with me.” 

These words and the look of obedient love that 


178 


THE CHILD AMY, 


went with them so rejoiced the boy, in a sense of 
pride and possession in her, that he came and sat 
down by her, taking her hand in his. At that, she 
put up the other little hand and turned his face 
full toward her, searching his eyes with a long, 
deep, penetrating look. 

“ I think I see my own boy coming back,” she 
said, and then she leaned for a second, and pressed 
her soft cheek against his. Then, holding his two 
browned hands in her little soft, white ones, she 
said : 

“ Harry, Uncle is better than he used to be. I 
know some things about him that I can’t tell — 
but he is. He was cruel and bad and wicked to 
you, and I am afraid he feels so still, but is that 
any reason why I should not love him as much as 
I can f I can’t ever love him very much, while he 
treats you so, but I think it would be very sad if 
you required me to be cross and ugly and unkind 
to Uncle, just because he has been so to you. 
You know and I know that I just belong to you, 
and that I’ll obey you in everything that would be 
right — but I won’t mind you when you want me 


THE CHILD AMY. 


179 


to do wrong — and that would be wrong. I think 
Uncle is really improving, and maybe he’ll get bet- 
ter yet. Any way, I’m going to keep on loving him 
some. You won’t mind that, will you, if I love 
you ten thousand times ten thousand more than I 
do him and all the world beside ? ” 

Harry broke into a little laugh. 

“ If I don’t like it. I’ll just have to lump it, I 
suppose,” he said, “ for have your own way you 
will, when you’ve made up your mind to it ! But 
there’s one thing you’ve got to promise me. Baby, 
and it’s this. Don’t talk about him to me, for I 
can’t bear it. Will you promise that ? ” 

“Yes, I’ll promise that,” said Amy, with im- 
mense satisfaction ; “ now you’re my own dear 
boy. And, Harry,” she said in a lowered tone, as 
she sidled close up to him on the old log, “ I’ll tell 
you this — \ do think Uncle s very uglyd 

The mysterious whisper in which the damag- 
ing admission was made, and the little wry face 
with which Amy always accompanied her com- 
ments upon any outrage to her canons of beauty, 
were too much for Harry’s gravity. He sprang to 


180 


THE CHILD AMY. 


his feet and caught her in his arms with a hearty- 
laugh, and swinging her high on his shoulder held 
her there, looking up to her with pride and delight, 
while she bent her head down and whispered low 
to him, though there was not a soul to hear : 

“ And, Harry, I just do believe that you — you 
old dear and darling ! — are the very handsomest 
person in the world.” 

She knocked his cap off as she spoke, and cov- 
ered his curls with rapturous kisses, laughing and 
chuckling and squeezing and kissing him, until 
every trace of his ugly mood was gone. 

The rest of their time together was full of 
happy talk and planning, and they parted with the 
feeling that they had never so wholly belonged to 
each other before. 


XL 



OyR YEARS had passed. Little Amy 
was grown into a tall, slight child 
of eleven, and was prettier than ever. 
She had made herself, in this long 
time, nearer and dearer every day to both the old 
people, of whose home she was now the chief 
pride and joy. Miss Melissa had grown accus- 
tomed to the surprises that the child’s strange 
influence over the old man had so often given 
her, and she was now prepared to expect anything 
from that influence except the one thing which 
would have given Amy’s heart and hers more joy 
than all the rest. That was a reconciliation be- 
tween the uncle and nephew. Every timid at- 
tempt the child made to lead up to that forbidden 
subject was met with a harshness so resolute and 
an anger so uncompromising that she was begin- 


182 


THE CHILD AMY, 


ning to lose hope. How sad it seemed that uncle, 
who was so much kinder than ever before to 
Miss Melissa, and to the servants, and to every 
one else who came in contact with him, should set 
his heart more and more sternly against the boy 
he had loved so much in his early childhood! 
But there seemed absolutely no help for it. Amy 
had given up all outward efforts to make peace 
between them, but she never ceased trying to 
sow, in the hearts of each, the seed that might 
bear fruit some day, in some manner which she 
could not foresee. 

As for Harry, he was become so tall and 
strong and handsome that the heart of his little 
worshipper thrilled with pride to see him. His 
visits were of rare occurrence now, as he no 
longer lived among the poor fishing-folk near by, 
but had made for himself a respected and respon- 
sible position in the shipping office of a great city 
firm. His earnings had, long ago, become too 
great to be committed to Miss Melissa’s keeping, 
so he had set up a bank account of his own, 
which was growing satisfactorily. Every month, 


THE CHILD AMY. 


183 


however, he sent, through Amy, a sum far more 
than sufficient to defray the child’s small ex- 
penses, and this Miss Melissa kept carefully, 
unknown to any one but herself. 

It was still Harry’s custom, on the occasion of 
his visits to Amy, to send her a notification before- 
hand, by the fisherman’s boy, who had proved 
himself so trusty a messenger all these years, and 
the child would go out into the woods and hold 
her interview with him there, with a feeling of 
mystery and importance in the event most agree- 
able to her romantic nature. She would give 
great accounts of him to Miss Melissa afterwards, 
of how tall and strong and splendid he was — and 
how he examined her about her studies at her 
own request, and expressed himself content with 
her progress. She did not know that this de- 
mand, which she took great pride in making, had 
been all along a stimulus to study which the 
boy would otherwise have lacked. The little 
creature’s belief in his superior wisdom was a 
thing he could not have borne to disappoint, and 
so he found time to do some studying, and his 


184 


THE CHILD AMY. 


natural fondness for reading gave him that re- 
source for his idle hours. He always brought 
Amy a present when he came, and he soon found 
that books pleased her more than anything else, 
so he would read the stories before giving them 
to her, and this made him very fastidious as to 
the character of the books, and helped him uncon- 
sciously to set up in his mind a high standard 
as to his own reading. He always felt that he 
was going on before Amy in the books he read, 
and that some day she would read the same, and 
talk them over with him. Her influence, uncon- 
sciously to both of them, was the ruling spirit of 
his life, and extended over almost everything he 
did or wished to do. 

It happened, during the autumn that followed 
Amy’s eleventh birthday, that old Mr. Arnold 
began to show a closer and more absorbed atten- 
tion to his business, and seemed always preoccu- 
pied and anxious. He had less leisure for the 
child and her talk than formerly, and he often 
told her to run away to Auntie, as he was very 
busy. He wrote and made figures a great deal 


THE CHILD AMY. 


185 


when he was at home, and he drove back to his 
office in the town almost every evening, and 
seemed much harassed about business affairs. 
He looked worried all the time, complained of 
being unable to sleep, and altogether showed 
himself to be in a state of mind that reacted 
upon both Miss Melissa and the child. They 
talked about it together, and Miss Melissa said 
she only knew that he was in some great 
money perplexity, but she had no doubt he 
would come out all right, and soon be himself 
again. 

But things got worse, instead of better, and an 
anxious, hunted, half-frightened look was often in 
his face, which made the child’s heart ache for 
him. She loved the old man, in spite of his 
harshness to Harry, which she violently resented 
in her heart, although she had always a hope that, 
somehow, that would come right with time. 
Now, when she saw him looking so thin and pale 
and troubled, she forgot everything, except that he 
was unhappy, and she had a great longing to help 
him. But she had also a delicate fear of being in- 


186 


THE CHILD AMY, 


trusive, and so she generally said nothing — only 
now and then she would creep up behind him, 
and put her little arms around his neck, and hug 
and kiss him tenderly. 

“Uncle,” she whispered once, “ I’m so sorry 
you are bothered.” 

“ It’s for your sake, most of all, darling,” the 
sudden answer came, as he took her, fora moment, 
to his heart. “ Auntie and I are old folks, who 
won’t have need of anything very long; but you 
are young and must always have what is bright 
and beautiful about you. I want to be able to 
leave money enough, when I die, to take care of 
this. You are the only one I’ve got to work and 
to look forward for.” 

He seemed so kind and gentle that Amy, 
with a bounding heart, made a sudden resolve. 

“O Uncle,” she said, “you’ve got some one 
nearer than me. Think of your own boy, Harry, 
who ” — 

“ Silence ! ” roared the old man, a violent anger 
coming into his face, as he put her from him. 
“ I have forbidden the mention of that outcast’s 


THE CHILD AMY. 


187 


name in my presence. You have forgotten this 
once or twice before. Don’t forget it again.” 

Amy shrank back, hurt and disappointed; but 
she was determined to show no sign of weak- 
ness, so she walked out of the room with quiet 
dignity, and managed not to give way to tears 
until she was alone. 

Things went on in this way, for what seemed 
a very long and dreary time, and then the end 
came. 

One evening, when she was lying on the 
library lounge. Uncle came home earlier than 
usual, and, entering the room with a slow and 
heavy step, unlike his ordinary brisk one, threw 
himself down into his seat, and, without seeing 
her, told Miss Melissa, in short, difficult sentences, 
that the crash had come, the bank had failed, 
and he was ruined. 

Poor Miss Melissa dropped her work, grew 
ghastly white, and looked at him with an awe- 
stricken face. Her brother reached out and took 
her hands in his, drawing her to his side with a 
degree of tenderness he had never shown her 


188 


THE CHILD AMY, 


before. It so touched and overcame her, that she 
quite gave way, and dropping her head against 
his shoulder, began to cry. 

“It is all, all gone,” he said; “and we can 
only try to help each other. The place will have 
to be sold, Melissa, and every cent given up to 
those to whom I owe it. I have not only lost 
money of my own, but there is something worse. 
I will tell you all, that one person besides myself 
may know what this blow is to me.” 

His face got set and stern. He drew his 
hands away and clinched them hard, as he went 
on, speaking low, and as if with difficulty. 

“ When I saw the danger that threatened, I 
somehow lost my head, and did a thing I cannot 
now explain. I thought I could save all, and so, 
with that hope, I used some money that was not 
mine, but had somehow got inextricably mixed 
with mine. It belonged to a ward, for whom I 
held it in trust. That too is gone.” 

He stopped, burying his face in his hands and 
trembling in his seat. 

“O Brother, let me help you!” cried Miss 


THE CHILD AMY. 


189 


Melissa. Let me do the little that I can. Sell 
my little place, that I have never needed, thanks 
to your bounty. It will be very little, but take 
that.” 

The old man did not lift his head. 

“Yes,” he said, “ Lll take it, Melissa. It’s 
hard to do it, but it was for that that I told 
you. I want to get hold of every cent I can, in 
order to make that deficiency good — but I fear 
it is hopeless. No one knows it yet but you, 
and I have already yielded up everything I have 
for the satisfaction of my own creditors. I knew 
you would be willing to help; but your little 
property would not bring half of what I need. 
Unless I can raise five thousand dollars, in the 
next two days, I am not only ruined, but dis- 
graced.” 

“Five thousand dollars!” exclaimed Miss Me- 
lissa, in a tone of consternation. Where was 
such a sum to come from? She had thought of 
Harry’s money, which she had been saving ; but 
the sum required, small as it was, to the old man, 
accustomed to handling so much greater sums. 


190 


THE CHILD AMY, 


seemed to her immense. And, indeed, to him, in 
his new experience of poverty, it seemed now 
also formidably large. 

“Never mind,” said Miss Melissa, making a 
great effort to be brave; “if we Ve got two days, 
something may be done. You might borrow it.” 

“I could not ask any one to lend it to me, 
without explaining why I want it, and that I 
cannot do.” 

His voice faltered, he shook his head weakly, 
and a broken, relaxed, exhausted look came over 
his face, that made him look twenty years older. 

Miss Melissa put her arms around him, and 
begged him to believe that it would all come 
right. She spoke vaguely, for there was no defi- 
nite hope to offer; but she felt that he must have 
some prospect of relief held out to him, or he 
could not bear it. She alluded cheerfully to the 
raising of the money, though her own heart sank 
with misgiving. As for poverty, she told him, 
that had no terror for her. She liked plain ways 
and simple doings, and she minded the loss of 
fortune only for his sake — for his, and — here 


THE CHILD AMY. 


191 


she glanced toward the lounge, rememberingly. 
Her brother’s eyes followed hers, to meet the 
frowning, intense, deeply offended gaze of the 
child, who lay upon it, motionless and severe, as 
her manner was under strong excitement. 

“ 1 suppose you’ve forgotten all about me,'' 
she said, in a keenly wounded tone, with which 
mingled an inflection of indignation, to match the 
look in her eyes. 

The old man was startled. He wondered 
how much the child had heard, and could only 
hope she had not taken in the import of the part 
of it which he wished to keep a secret. The 
other, she would be obliged to know very soon. 

“No, Amy,” he said gently, “we had not for- 
gotten you. It’s for your sake chiefly that Uncle 
is so sorry that all his money is gone. Uncle 
loved to think that he could always give you 
whatever was beautiful and comfortable and 
good. How could you think he had forgotten 
you, and the poverty he has brought upon you? ” 

“I’m not talking about that,” said the child, 
springing to her feet and facing him, resentful 


192 


THE CHILD AMY. 


Still, “ I was a poor little child, with nothing at 
all belonging to me, when you let me come into 
this house ; and you and Auntie have been good 
to me. I don’t care anything at all about being 
poor, but — but” — her voice shook slightly, '‘you 
wouldn’t tell me about it ! You wanted Miss 
Melissa to know it, and both of you to be sad 
and sorry, and not tell me ! I shouldn’t think 
you’d treat a poor little child like that.” 

When they realized that it was not the loss 
of the money that had hurt her, but the feeling 
that she had been thrust out of their confidence, 
and refused the privilege of bearing their burden 
with them, even those two heavy hearts grew 
lighter, at this sweet proof of sympathy and de- 
votion from the little child they so loved. Miss 
Melissa dried her tears to soothe and reassure her, 
and Uncle lifted her to his knee and kissed and 
held her close, saying, as if half involuntarily: — 

“ We haven’t lost our greatest riches while 
this precious child is left. Have we, Melissa?” 

And Miss Melissa bent to kiss her, too, 
and heartily answered, “ No.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


193 


Uncle,” said the child earnestly, “ I don’t 
mind being poor, a bit, if only everybody loved 
everybody else,” her voice grew a little wistful at 
this, but she dared not say any more, so she just 
hugged him and kissed him and said confidently: 

'' God will keep care of us.” 

This was one of her childish expressions 
which she had never had her attention called to, 
and had therefore retained. So stated, the propo- 
sition appeared such a reasonable one, and her 
confidence was so supreme, that neither of her 
companions could say anything to dim her faith. 
So Miss Melissa sent her off to get ready for tea, 
with a feeling in her little heart that somehow 
she had given comfort. 

It was not her intention, however, to stop 
there. No, indeed ! Her mind was full of a 
definite project, as she flew up the staircase, and 
ran to her little desk and wrote a few brief sen- 
tences on a slip of paper. These she enclosed in 
an envelope, which she took in her hand, as she 
went down stairs. Finding Martha, she told her 
she must walk to the station, which was not far 


194 


THE CHILD AMY, 


away, and give that envelope to the telegraph 
operator. The old woman was surprised, but she 
had a conviction, founded on experience, that 
Amy generally knew what she was about, and so 
she gave her word that she would strictly obey 
instructions. 

So much accomplished, Amy went back up 
stairs, made herself neat and fresh as usual for 
tea, and spent the remainder of the evening in 
such loving caresses, and such confident assur- 
ances, for both her dear old friends, that, in spite 
of all, they caught a little of her hopefulness, and 
went to bed with somewhat lightened hearts. 

But next morning it was a pitiful thing to see 
poor Uncle, so white and wan and feeble-looking, 
and he had to confess that he had passed a sleep- 
less night. Miss Melissa begged him not to go 
into the town, but he said he was compelled to; 
that he must give his attention to the painful 
business which had to be got through with, and 
so he braced himself for the effort and drove 
sadly away. Before he left, however, Amy had 
heard him assure Miss Melissa, in answer to her 


THE CHILD AMY, 


195 


earnest question, that, for to-day at least, there 
was no possible chance that the secret he wished 
to keep would get out. After hearing this, Amy 
could kiss him good-by, with a comparatively easy 
heart, for this one day’s grace was all that she 
asked. 


XII. 

It was a cold, rainy evening of early spring. 
Miss Melissa, in spite of brave effort, had been 
obliged to give up to a violent nervous head- 
ache, which the anxieties of the last few days 
had brought on. There was no relief for it but 
silence and rest, and she had shut herself into 
her room up-stairs. Uncle had sent a note from 
town, to say he could not come home to tea ; 
that it was uncertain when he could get off from 
his business, and no one must wait or sit up for 
him. But Amy, in spite of the fact that she was 
all alone, had evidently no intention of going to 
bed. She told the man-servant to put fresh coal 
on the open fire, and light the lamps. When he 
had done this, she dismissed him for the night. 
Her uncle had a latch-key, and it was not neces- 
sary for any one to sit up for him. She was not 

196 


THE CHILD AMY, 


197 


in the least a timid child, and she sat there a 
long time all alone, looking into the fire and 
listening to the dripping rain outside. After the 
servant had gone she had quietly walked over to 
the window that opened on the gravel walk, and 
drawn back the curtains, which had been care- 
fully closed, so that any one approaching the 
house would have a full view of the room. In 
addition to this, she had slightly raised the win- 
dow-sash, so as to hear any sound outside. Then 
she sat still, and looked into the fire and waited. 

It was not a great while before her quick ears 
detected the sound of light foot-falls on the sod 
beneath the window, and, just as she stood up 
and turned, there was a tap on the glass, and a 
voice said : 

“Amy.” 

She ran to the window, and saw, to her de- 
light, the face of her dear boy Harry, outside in 
the dripping rain. 

“You must come in,’’ she said. “There is no 
one here but me, and I must see and talk to 
you.” 


198 


THE CHILD AMY. 


He nodded his head and went round toward 
the front door, which Amy rushed to open for 
him. He came in boldly, without any effort to 
be stealthy or quiet, and walked into the hall, 
where he put down his umbrella and wiped the 
dampness from his feet. Then he followed her 
into the brightly lighted library, with its comfort- 
able leather furniture, rows of books, and bright 
wood fire, and there he took her in his arms and 
gave her a hearty hug and kiss. 

“Well, baby,” he said, “what is it? Your 
telegram was imperious enough, but I know you 
don’t do things for nothing, and I’ve obeyed it.” 

“Have you brought the money?” she said; 
“every cent you had in the world?” 

“ I have, indeed,” said the lad, taking a thick 
leather-covered packet from his breast pocket. 
“ It took some time and trouble to turn every- 
thing I had into cash, in a few hours, but I’ve 
done it. I’ve only been working and saving it 
all for you, and if you want it, you shall have 
it.” 

“ O Harry, it isn’t for me,” she said. “ Some- 


THE CHILD AMY, 


199 


thing has happened — something so sad, that will 
surprise you so.” 

“Not for you? Then, by George, I’ll take it 
back! Nobody on this earth shall have this 
money but you. It’s yours already.” 

“Then if it’s mine,” she said, “I have a use 
for it. How much is it? O Harry, if it’s only 
enough!” 

“It’s four thousand and thirty dollars,” he said, 
not without a certain pride. 

“Oh, thank God!” she cried rapturously; “it’s 
enough, and more than enough! Auntie has told 
me a great secret,” she went on; “she has been 
putting by, for all this time, the money you’ve 
been sending her for me, and that, with what 
you’ve got, will make more than what we want. 
O Harry, Harry, how happy you have made me ! ” 

But Harry’s face, as she now looked at it, gave 
no response to the joy written upon hers. . He 
looked angry and offended. 

“If Aunt Melissa has done a thing like that,” 
he said, “if she’s deceived me, and let you stay 
on in this house all these years, a dependent on 


200 


THE CHILD AMY, 


his bounty,” — he spoke in a tone of voice that ex- 
pressed a furious indignation, — “why there’s but 
one thing for me to do. I shall take the money 
and enclose it to him, her rich old brother, 
who’ll be glad enough to get it — and then I 
shall take you away.” 

“Oh, no! No! Harry, dearest, you do not 
understand. Try to be pitiful and gentle to 
others, as you are to me. Poor old Uncle is in 
great trouble. It is for him that I wrote to you 
to bring the money.” 

“For him!'' — said the boy angrily, “for him! 
You want me to hand over to him the earnings 
of all these years of privation and poverty, when 
I might have been a pauper in the poorhouse for 
all he cared ; and I would have been a low brute 
of a sailor or tramp, perhaps, but for you! No, 
by George! this is for you, my darling — not for 
him ! " 

His voice broke as he uttered the little word 
of endearment, and Amy crept close to him, and 
put one arm around his neck, standing at his side. 

“Harry,” she said tenderly, “if you have such 


THE CHILD AMY. 


201 


a hatred of cruelty, you wouldn’t be cruel yourself, 
would you ? How do you think you would 
have acted in Uncle’s place, if you had had 
money and power, and he had stood in need of 
help? You would have given it to him, wouldn’t 
you ?” 

“I should think so!” said the boy, filled with 
the recollection of his wrongs. 

'‘Even if you felt you had had real cause to 
be offended and angry with him?” 

“ Of course ! Anybody’ll befriend and stand 
by a person that always does as he’s wanted to 
do, and gives no cause of offence. It doesn’t 
take love and relationship to do that. The thing 
is to stand by a person to whom you are bound, 
even if they disappoint and go against you.” 

“Yes, that is very noble,” said the child. 

“I don’t call it by any such high-sounding 
word,” said Harry ; “ it’s simply right, and that’s 
all there is about it. Any other course is base 
and mean.” 

“ So you think if your places were changed, 
and you could give help that Uncle needed, you 


202 


THE CHILD AMY. 


would do it,” said Amy, looking at him wistfully 
out of her great serious eyes. 

“Not now, by George!” the boy exclaimed, 
angry in a moment. “ Not after his hard and 
bitter treatment of me! I could be hard and 
bitter too, and show him how it feels ! I only 
wish I had the chance; but there’s no such good 
luck for me.” 

“Yes,” said Amy, slowly drawing away from 
him and seating herself in a chair near by, “if 
you call it good luck to know that your uncle 
is a ruined man ; that every cent he has in the 
world, and more besides, has gone, in the failure 
of a bank ; that his old home will have to be 
sold, and everything in it and about it; that 
he and his sister, in their old age, have not a 
penny to live on ; that the name he has worked 
so hard to win credit and distinction for will, in 
future, be spoken of as that of a man who was a 
failure, only to be pitied, if not blamed, — then, 
Harry, you’re in luck!” 

“ What ! ” said the boy, starting to his feet, 
while the color all faded from his face, “ my uncle 


THE CHILD AMY. 


203 


failed! Uncle and auntie to leave their old 
home! Uncle’s good name attacked! Good 
Lord, Amy! what do you mean?” 

“ I mean,” said the child coldly, “ exactly what 
I have said. Every word of it is true. And that 
is not all. He could bear that much, if it were 
not for something worse. He had some money 
in his hands that belonged to a child he was 
guardian for. He didn’t intend to use it, and he 
only risked with it what he risked with his own ; 
but he lost that too, and that is the bitterest part. 
If he could pay that back, before any one knows 
it, we should be the only sufferers, and, at least, 
his good name would be saved.” 

“ How much is it? ” said the boy breathlessly. 

“ Five thousand dollars ; and Miss Melissa 
has nearly a thousand.” 

''Then here’s the rest!” cried the boy exul- 
tantly, striking the packet in his hand. " O Amy, 
I have been a brute, a wretch, a cur — unworthy 
of your faith and love. Poor old Uncle!” 

His voice broke; and when Amy sprang for- 
ward and threw her arms around his neck she 


204 


THE CHILD AMY, 


felt the hot tears on the cheek he pressed to 
hers. 

“ You are my own, own boy ! ” she said, hug- 
ging close his curly head, and kissing the bronzed 
wet cheeks. I knew exactly how it would be, 
when once you understood. And when Uncle 
understands, too, it will be the same with 
him.” 

“ No,” said Harry resolutely, wiping the tears 
away, and speaking in a firm, collected tone ; “ he 
must never know where the money came from, 
Amy. You and Auntie must give me your word 
for that. Somehow you must get him to take it, 
without that knowledge. He would never accept 
it, if he knew it came from me.” 

“O Harry, don’t say that! What makes you 
think he would have such a feeling? You think 
he is harder and sterner than he is.” 

“ No — I know, better than you, how hard and 
stern he really is. He used to love me, when I 
was a little child and he could do with me just 
what he would. But he got bravely over it, and 
for years before we parted, even, I felt that he 


THE CHILD AMY, 


205 


hated me. I know he hates me still, and that 
he’d never take help from my hands.” 

“ But, Harry, he has changed. You don’t know 
how different he is. Auntie sees it. She speaks 
of it every day, and says he is a different 
man.” 

“To all but me, he may be,” said the boy. 
“ I’ll venture to say no one has ever seen any sign 
of a change toward me. Come — I ask you.” 

Poor Amy dropped her eyes. She was too 
truthful to pretend, and any contradiction to his 
words would have been deliberate falsehood. 

“ Ah, I know very well how it is,” said the 
boy; “ much as he values his good name, I believe 
he’d sacrifice it, before he would get help from 
me to save it.” 

He spoke with a mixture of sadness and 
bitterness, and the child, feeling that she had no 
power to gainsay him, would not meet his eyes, 
which sought hers eagerly, as if in hope of 
contradiction. 

But Amy was looking absently across the 
room, toward the uncurtained window, from 


206 


THE CHILD AMY, 


whence she suddenly became aware of a current 
of cold, damp air. She was glad of a moment’s 
pretext for delay, in which to collect herself, and 
she went over to pull down the sash. 

But as she got near to it, she stopped short. 
A face looked at her, out of the wet and darkness. 
It was Uncle, pale and haggard — standing very 
still, with his arms against the sill, as if he had 
been long in the same position. One instant’s 
glance into his eyes convinced her that he had 
heard all. What would the effect of it be ? 

She smothered the cry that rose to her lips, 
and stepped backward, as the old man moved 
from his place, and sank into the darkness 
behind. 

The child felt weak, with fear and apprehen- 
sion. She fell into a seat, and turned her 
blanched face toward Harry, as, suddenly, foot- 
steps were heard approaching through the hall. 

“It’s Uncle!” cried the boy, starting up in con- 
sternation. “Well — let him come — I’m not 
afraid. He can do no more than drive me out, 
and he’s done that before.” 


THE CHILD AMY, 


207 


The old feeling of indignation, strong from 
long habit, had sprung up within him again and 
struggled confusedly with the pity in his breast. 
But he felt that pity, from him, would be spurned 
with indignation, so he straightened himself up, 
to receive with calmness the furious repulse he 
was prepared for. 

The footsteps, slow and heavy, seemed 
strangely irregular and uncertain. Could it 
really be the self-reliant, brisk old man ? The 
boy and girl stood facing the door, and waiting 
in breathless expectation. Yes, it was Uncle; but 
he was pale and weak and tottering, as he paused 
an instant in the doorway, and then with the 
cry : — 

“My boy! My boy!” he reached out his 
shaking arms and in another second was sobbing 
on the lad’s strong breast. 

Harry, his face aglow with love, had sprung 
forward as he heard that cry, and thrown his 
arms around him. A supreme and almost super- 
natural joy possessed him. For the moment that 
he stood in silence, supporting the old man’s 


208 


THE CHILD AMY. 


feeble form, he was in a sort of trance of rapture. 
All the filial aspirations of his heart, so long 
denied and starved, seemed suddenly, with one 
great rush, to be adequately satisfied. Not a 
word of explanation was needed. His uncle — the 
only father he had known — loved him again, had 
never ceased to love him, even through all these 
years of misunderstanding! They were heart-to- 
heart again, as he could dimly recollect that 
they had been in his childhood’s years. It was 
enough. 

The first consciousness outside themselves, 
that came to each, was of the child Amy. As 
they drew apart from that close embrace, both 
the old man and the boy turned to her, and each 
of them held out a hand. She came forward then 
softly, the light of a great happiness on her 
lovely face; and, as they drew her near until the 
three were locked together in a close embrace, 
each felt no words were needed. They only 
kissed each other and were still. 


XIII. 

After that reconciliation the troubles that 
came, serious as they were, were not unbearable. 
It was hard to leave the comfortable old home, 
and to give up luxury and plenty, and accept, 
instead, hardships and privation ; but it was 
wonderful how comparatively unimportant these 
things seemed when taken in consideration with 
the love and freedom and universal goodwill and 
helpfulness by which each of the four now felt 
themselves surrounded. The old man came out 
of his money troubles stainless in name, though 
absolutely penniless ; and his deep gratitude for 
the former condition did much to mitigate the 
hardships of the latter. But he was feeble and 
broken down, for the present at least, and almost 
helpless in body and mind. Miss Melissa, over- 
whelmed with joy as she was at seeing the brother 

209 


210 


THE CHILD AMY. 


and nephew she loved reunited, made a great effort 
to be helpful ; but she was at no time a person of 
any great capacity or energy, and so most of what 
was to be done fell upon the two young people. 

It had been decided that the little house 
which belonged to Miss Melissa should now 
become their home; and, fortunately, it was situ- 
ated far away from the scene of their past afflu- 
ence, and nearer to the great city in which Harry 
lived. His business required him to be there 
constantly, but he could go to them every Sun- 
day, and that would be joy enough. He got a 
few days’ holiday allowed him, and he and Amy 
went off, with a sense of great importance, to see 
the place, and find out what was needed to make 
it habitable. The house was at present unoccu- 
pied, and the two old people agreed to the earnest 
wish of the young ones that they should be 
allowed to do the prospecting and arranging. 

It was impossible to leave Uncle alone, and 
every one felt that Miss Melissa was the one to 
stay with him, in the passive capacity to which 
she was better adapted than the active one of 


THE CHILD AMY, 


211 


arranging and choosing and making decisions, 
which was the sort of thing that Harry and Amy 
delighted in. 

As the handsome youth, now twenty years of 
age, accompanied by the daintily dressed child of 
eleven, who had the air and appearance of a little 
princess, approached the house that was to be 
their future home, both were bound to acknowl- 
edge in their hearts that it was but a poor place. 
The contrast to the one they were leaving was 
very great, and perhaps the helrt of each fell 
within their breasts. As for Harry, anything 
was good enough for him; but he could not 
imagine this magnificent little creature, who had 
seemed always to belong to some higher sphere, 
living in such a place as this. It was a bare, 
unornamented, common little country house, 
without the least pretence to either comfort or 
beauty. He looked about at its barren ugliness, 
and then at the lovely being in the great befeath- 
ered hat, which was the style that Amy still 
adhered to, and his feelings found vent in a blank 
and dubious: — 


212 


THE CHILD AMY 


“Well?” 

“Well!” said Amy confidently, with a glance 
of energetic interest, “there’s a great deal to be 
done to it, of course, and we’ll have to go hard to 
work — but it seems to me that it will answer 
capitally.” 

She had a way of using big folks’ expressions 
when she wanted to make an impression beyond 
her years, and she spoke now with all the assur- 
ance and self-reliance of a woman. 

Harry drewa great breath of relief. If Amy 
had flinched when it came to this crucial test, he 
would infallibly have weakened; but now he felt 
himself brave enough for anything. If she was 
willing to make the effort to convert this place 
into a habitable home for Uncle and Auntie in 
their old age, why she should have the utmost 
help that ever boy could give to girl, — or man to 
woman, for the matter of that! So they walked 
about together in the most business-like way, and 
talked of all that must be done, without and 
within. Harry took out his note-book and made 
a list, on which Amy insisted that vines and 


THE CHILD AMY, 


213 


flower-seeds should be put, and they talked quite 
happily of the occasional holidays, which he 
said he could secure, in order to come down 
and help things along. His salary, which was 
now a very considerable one for a youth of 
twenty, was the sole support they had to look 
forward to, and they had all decided they could 
live, on it. Fortunately there was enough of 
their capital left, after the five thousand dollars 
was made up, to make a start with. Miss Me- 
lissa owned a little quaint, old-fashioned furniture, 
which would be a nucleus, and a few absolute 
necessities could be bought, and the rest accu- 
mulated gradually. It was exactly in accordance 
with the feeling of all the four, that the relin- 
quishment of his entire property which Uncle had 
promised should be thorough; and they were only 
too happy that this sacrifice secured them the sat- 
isfaction of knowing that all Uncle’s accounts were 
fair and square, and no one in the world was in- 
jured by his failure. 

Harry suffered acutely at first because of Amy, 
and he felt it very bitterly that he could not 


214 


THE CHILD AMY, 


save her from actual labor with her hands; but 
the little creature manifested an intense interest 
in learning to play her new part that showed her 
to have no dread of it, and, by her resolution and 
tact, she soon got him reconciled. It would only 
be for a little while, she would assure him ; as, of 
course, when he got older he would make all the 
money he wanted. If he hadn’t given Uncle so 
much he would be rich already, and able to have 
things as he chose — but which was the best use 
to make of it? 

, In such a spirit as this she completely con- 
quered any dissatisfaction in the boy, and recon- 
ciled him to do her will in all things. 

Miss Melissa, who in her early days, before 
her brother had made his fortune, had known 
what it was to work with her own hands, was 
able to recall a great deal of practical household 
knowledge, and to give lessons to Amy, who was 
intensely eager to learn. 

The child’s experiments in housework and 
cooking, and determination to acquire useful 
knowledge, were a source of much interest and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


215 


fun, especially to Uncle, whose heart seemed more 
and more to fold her into its protecting love. 

But if his heart was so toward Amy, what was 
it toward Harry ? The intense devotion denied 
expression through all these years seemed all to 
concentrate now in the love he gave the boy. 
He had abandoned forever the idea of moulding 
him to his own will, and perhaps had recog- 
nized at last that he was cut out on a larger 
plan and meant for greater things. At any rate, 
Harry felt the absolute bliss of freedom. He 
had a heart and a soul and a conscience, and he 
was responsible for his own development, and 
he felt at last that he was left at liberty to work 
this out according to the light that was given him. 
So there was now no bar between the free enjoy- 
ment of the affection between his uncle and him- 
self, which was one of his chief sources of pleasure. 

It was on a lovely day in springtime that the 
party of four took up its residence in the new 
house; and now and again as the sharp contrasts 
to their past life presented themselves, they would 
find it necessary to laugh in order to keep from 


216 


THE CHILD AMY, 


crying. But that alternative seemed somehow 
always a useful and feasible one; so they sat down 
to their first meal in the new house a merry party. 
The two old people felt a strong demand upon 
them to be brave and cheerful, because of the 
young ones, who needed encouragement for the 
hard battle of life still to be fought ; and the two 
young ones had for their incentive to courage and 
hope the knowledge that the old man and woman 
had been bruised and wounded in the fights already 
made, and needed to be cheered and comforted 
now in their old age. 

It worked effectually on both sides; and the 
humble place in which the lot of those four was 
now cast became a sanctified spot, exalted above 
every possibility of vulgarity or commonness by 
the fact that it was the daily scene of unselfish 
labor and love. 

One new pleasure which the present had devel- 
oped was an addition to their music, in the shape 
of Harry’s violin. He had picked it up himself, 
and got quite a good mastery of it; and as Auntie’s 
piano and Uncle’s flute were two of the things 


THE CHILD AMY. 


217 


which had come with them out of the old life into 
the new, there were charming duets between the 
old man and the child every evening, and still 
more charming trios when Harry would come 
home. Although he played only by ear, he was 
so wonderfully accurate, and kept such perfect 
time, that he was often able to sit in judgment on 
the other two, who liked nothing better than to 
learn of him and to labor faithfully to follow his 
teaching. 


XIV. 


As the beautiful spring days went by, in the 
new home, each one of the party felt a peace and 
happiness unknown before. Uncle, having once 
surrendered, gave up utterly, and never assumed 
again the imperiousness and harshness which, 
in truth, were the result rather of acquired habit 
than nature. His indomitable resolve to over- 
come whatever opposed him had helped to make 
him a successful man; but what had success 
brought him ? Looking back now on his years 
of prosperity, he contrasted them with this time 
of privation, to the infinite advantage of the latter. 
If there were nothing else, the one fact of his 
affectionate intercourse with and pride in the boy 
who was now once more a son to him, made the 
deepest happiness his life had known. Amy, too, 
he loved tenderly; but it seemed as if Harry was 

the very light of his eyes. 

218 


THE CHILD AMY. 


219 


As for Miss Melissa, she had never outlived 
the simple tastes of her early life, and it soon 
became evident that the capacity she showed in 
domestic affairs, — the delicious cooking and ex- 
quisite care of the house, — brought into use her 
greatest talent ; and in the practice of this, for the 
comfort and to the admiration of the rest, she 
found a satisfaction that nothing in her recent 
life had afforded. 

Harry was proud and happy to bring down 
every Saturday his earnings for the week; and 
very often they included, besides his regular 
salary, accidental sums that his quick wit had 
enabled him to pick up by a little venture here 
and there. The expenditure of these — being 
over and above the regular expenses — was a 
thing over which he and Amy had the most 
delightful conferences. Something for Uncles 
comfort, or something for Auntie’s convenience, 
were generally the objects fixed upon, as 
Harry soon found that, in consulting them, he 
was giving the greatest degree of pleasure to 
Amy. 


220 


THE CHILD AMY. 


As for the child herself, she seemed as happy 
as the day was long. She was naturally brimful 
of energy, and the conditions of her new life gave 
ample scope for it. She had learned to do the 
prettiest sewing, in working for her dolls; and 
this she now turned to account for people, get- 
ting Miss Melissa’s help in the more difficult 
parts, but showing such aptness and such reso- 
lution to learn that she was generally able to do 
herself what she had once seen Miss Melissa do. 
It was her delight to embellish and beautify 
Harry’s little room; and he never came with- 
out finding there some addition that she had 
made during the week. Amy always went up 
with him when he arrived; and his first act would 
be to glance quickly round, as if in search, and 
when he would make the discovery he would 
point to it delightedly, and then clap his hands 
and laugh; and generally it ended in Amy’s being 
caught up in the air and touzled and kissed as if 
she had been a baby. She would never have 
submitted to this indignity from any one but 
Harry, and not even from him in the presence of 


THE CHILD AMY, 


221 


the others; for she was quite a big little girl now, 
and liked to be treated with respect. But Harry 
was grown so tremendous that he could lift and 
toss her about almost as easily as ever, and she 
liked so much to feel herself held high in those 
strong arms, and to look down upon that curly head 
and into those laughing eyes, that she couldn’t find 
it in her heart to forbid him. Besides, she had no 
confidence that she would be obeyed; for Harry, 
in spite of all his sweetness, had a masterful way 
with him, and considered Amy, as he had always 
done, his especial property and charge. It was 
Amy’s pride to foster this feeling in him; and the 
bond between the big boy and the little girl, 
strong as it had always been, grew every day 
stronger and more fixed. 

One thing, almost above all, Amy had la- 
mented in giving up riches, and that was that 
there could be no more stories made, to be told by 
Uncle and herself on Sunday afternoons. Neither 
was there any summer-house to go and sit in. She 
felt this such a loss that, after one or two Sun- 
days had passed, she made a proposition to Uncle 


222 


THE CHILD AMY, 


that she had thoroughly considered and developed 
before mentioning. This was that seats should 
be contrived under some dense shade-trees that 
stood at the back of the house, and there she and 
Uncle would invite the poorest children of the 
neighborhood to come and hold a Sunday-school. 
Uncle’s face, when this proposition was made to 
him, was a study. He the teacher of a Sunday- 
school ! He couldn’t bear to damp the child’s 
ardor by a flat denial, but he managed to convey 
to her pretty forcibly his self-distrust in such a 
capacity. It seemed, however, that Amy’s plan 
was that he was merely to dignify the enterprise 
with his name and presence, and she would do 
most of the instructing, and would teach the chil- 
dren to sing. She had already made the acquaint- 
ance of one family not far away, where she had 
found the young members much in need of a little 
missionarying ; and she felt she could put herself 
in an attitude of sympathy with them, and could, 
at any rate, make them have a pleasant hour or so 
once a week. It was much for that, and because 
the taste for helping others was now a strong 


THE CHILD AMY. 


223 


demand of her nature, that she had made this 
plan. 

Uncle denied her nothing, so the scheme was 
soon put into effect. Beginning with three chil- 
dren, the class soon grew, additions being brought 
in nearly every Sunday; and Uncle, at least, was 
always sure of an hour's solid happiness in hear- 
ing Amy's instructions to her class. Harry, too, 
at his own request, was admitted, and gave needed 
help in the singing. Amy hadn’t the least sense 
of false shame, and taught her class with the most 
absolute freedom from self-consciousness, while 
Uncle and Harry sat and listened. The first ex- 
amination proved the pupils to be as much in 
need of instruction as the inhabitants of Africa 
could have been ; and to the two elders it was new 
and striking the manner in which Amy did her reli- 
gious teaching. She had no book but the Bible, 
and all the stories she told them out of that were 
of the love and sympathy and mercy and tender- 
ness of the heavenly Father and his dear Son. 
If she had ever been taught herself anything that 
was coatrary to this she either ignored or forgot 


224 


THE CHILD AMY. 


it ; and certainly she represented God and Christ 
to the minds of these little children in a way .that 
made not to love impossible. 

Harry and Uncle talked about it one afternoon 
as they walked around the garden after Sunday- 
school, and the boy said simply and earnestly that 
the God whom Amy loved and worshipped and 
had presented to his consciousness was a very dif- 
ferent being from the one with whose wrath his 
childish mind had been threatened. ‘'And when 
I ask myself,” he added, “ which is likely to be the 
true one, the good or the bad, the kind or the 
cruel, it seems a simple thing to answer. I think 
if a missionary was ever sent by God to help a 
soul in darkness, Amy was sent to me, to make 
me know God as He is.” 

“And to me, too, Harry,” said the old man, not 
without a certain hesitancy, which he soon got 
the better of. “ I have been longer in under- 
standing than you have, but I think I do at last. 
At least, I understand enough to love, where I 
once only dreaded.” 

The conversation was cut short here by their 


THE CHILD AMY. 


225 


coming suddenly upon the late Sunday-school, 
teacher and pupils, enjoying a treat of straw- 
berries and cream under the trees. Harry had 
brought early strawberries down from the city 
for the purpose, to Amy’s great delight. She 
almost always contrived a little treat or present 
of some sort for the children on every Sunday, 
so that she was able to feel that the change of 
circumstances had not really cut her off from the 
delight of giving to and doing for others. 

After the children were gone, it was a great 
delight to walk about with Harry’s hand in hers, 
and watch the progress that had. been made by 
the plants in the garden, the vines about the 
house, and the flowers in boxes and jars, as well 
as in the beds, which had been planted profusely 
by Harry and Uncle, at Amy’s earnest instigation. 
She was resolutely bent on making the humble 
little home beautiful; and already it began to 
have an air of refinement and taste that was 
charming. 

It was funny to see with “what adaptability 
Amy — the little sybarite that she was by nature 


226 


THE CHILD AMY, 


— took to the tasks and duties of her new life. 
The only servant they could afford to keep was a 
half-grown and ignorant girl; and Amy learned to 
make beds, sweep floors, dust furniture, and many 
other sorts of household work, with the greatest 
ease and thoroughness. This last attribute char- 
acterized all that she did, whether it was work or 
play; and it was perhaps the quality that stood 
her in best stead now. But with it all Amy 
never lost her daintiness. She was as particular 
in her personal habits as ever, even more so; for 
a much greater care was necessary to keep herself 
fresh and fair and neat, now that there was so 
much work to be done. She made herself big 
gingham aprons, that covered her from chin to 
heels; and sometimes Harry was tempted to think 
he never saw her look more charming than she 
did in this costume; for her instinctive taste made 
her fashion even this garment becomingly, and 
the full ruffle that fell downward from her white 
throat had, in connection with the shining curls 
that covered it behind, an air of distinction some- 
thing like that in the pictures of children by Van- 


THE CHILD AMY. 


227 


dyke. The long lines of the apron, too, made her 
look tall and straight, and under its stiff edge her 
small and delicate feet showed attractively. 

When work was over, she would take this 
apron off and hang it in its place; and then such 
a washing and brushing and cleaning would take 
place, that she was neat and fresh as a new morn- 
ing-glory, just opened to the light. Then it was 
her delight to get her beloved books, with which 
Harry kept her supplied, and find a cool and 
shady place under the trees, and lie on the grass 
and read and dream for hours. 

She did a great deal of castle-building at 
these times, and much, much wondering about 
her life. She was serious, and capable of look- 
ing ahead intelligently; and she often speculated 
as to what her future was to be. She had never 
quite given up the idea that, some of these days, 
relatives in England might make themselves 
known to her; but as time had passed, and no 
sign came, this seemed more and more improb- 
able. Uncle and Auntie were old, and perhaps 
had not very much longer to live, so her whole 


228 


THE CHILD AMY, 


thought of the future was centred in Harry. 
She knew he would love and take care of her, as 
long as she lived, and that thought was her rest. 
He had saved her life, and made all the condi- 
tions of comfort and pleasure that had sur- 
rounded it since; and her gratitude to him was 
a feeling of fierce intensity, notwithstanding the 
fact that it never manifested itself in words. She 
felt that Harry understood, and she was never 
tired of doing for him everything there was to be 
done, and of racking her brain to invent things. 

It was a happy, happy time to all, full of ener- 
getic work for old and young. Uncle worked the 
garden with the fervor and industry he had always 
shown in his business. Auntie canned vegetables 
and put up fruits for winter, until her store-room, 
at first so empty, became once more a thing of 
pride to her. Harry knew no weariness in labor- 
ing early and late to make money that should add 
to the comforts and pleasures of the little house- 
hold ; and Amy had her dainty hands as full as full 
could be, helping everybody, and imparting a touch 
of grace and beauty to the whole situation, as well 


THE CHILD AMY, 


229 


as to the house in all its details, without which it 
would have been barren and unbeautiful. And 
the secret of the zest and sweetness which each of 
the four found in their labors was that they were 
unselfish and were done for others. 

By and by came the long looked for time of 
Harry’s summer vacation. He was to be at home 
for a whole month, and various and enthusiastic 
were the plans that had been made for this time. 
In the first place, he had agreed to give Amy a 
special course of teaching. She had systematic 
study-hours every day with Miss Melissa; but the 
truth was, Amy was treading so close upon the 
heels of. her instructress, whose education had 
been rather a simple one, that Miss Melissa was 
glad to turn her over to Harry. The lad had 
already begun to consider seriously the necessity 
of a school, or another teacher for Amy; but the 
mere mention of it offended the child, because of 
the expense, and had the effect of making her 
study with Miss Melissa more patiently and reso- 
lutely than ever. 

But what a joy it was to study under Harry, 


230 


THE CHILD AMY. 


who made history so fascinating by his spirited 
reading, and arithmetic so clear by his intelligent 
explanation ! Then their geography lessons set 
them to talking about other countries all over the 
world, of most of which Harry had heard interest- 
ing accounts from the seafaring men with whom 
he had been thrown, and some of which he had 
even visited himself, and could tell all the charac- 
teristics of. He had picked up a large stock of 
knowledge in his extensive travelling, and he had 
a most agreeable way of imparting it to his ad- 
miring little companion, who listened with avidity 
to every word that fell from his lips, and thought 
him quite the most learned and interesting person 
in the world, as she knew he was the best and 
dearest. 

The self-willed and imperious nature which 
had been born in little Amy was infinitely more 
controlled than formerly; but it was not yet by 
any means gone, and at times it flared up in a 
sudden way that almost bewildered Miss Melissa. 
If she got into a temper, however, the slightest 
look from Harry would subdue her and make her 


THE CHILD AMY. 


231 


sorry and anxious to amend. The boy’s influence 
over her was only to be equalled by her influence 
over him. His knowledge of Amy’s high ideal of 
him was a tremendous incentive to him; and, al- 
though it was a difficult standard to live up to, it 
was a great benefit to his character to aim so 
high. 

Sometimes they used to wonder together. 
Uncle and Auntie and Harry, what their life 
would be without the child, and it seemed almost 
as if it would be like the world without the sun. 
It terrified the boy to think he had ever put that 
advertisement in the paper, which might have re- 
sulted in Amy’s relations coming to claim her. 
How different would their life be now! Neverthe- 
less, he felt a certain satisfaction, as the result 
had been what it was, that he had done his duty, 
and he cautioned Miss Melissa to take great 
care of the clothes which the child had had on 
when rescued, as they had certain marks and ini- 
tials on them, and there was a little gold pin with 
a coat-of-arms and a date. These relics were kept 
sacredly, and once in a long time Amy would ask 


232 


THE CHILD AMY. 


to see them, and would touch them with a sort of 
wondering reverence, as the only connecting link 
which she had now between her present and her 
dimly recollected past, which was haunted by the 
fondly cherished memory of a devoted father s and 
mother’s love. 

The days of each of the four were spent in 
good, energetic, fruitful work, and it was sweet to 
each to turn from these to the relaxation of music 
and books and talk around the bright fire. They 
practised with such zest and industry that they 
learned to play together charmingly; and one 
evening, when the minister of the church which 
they attended happened to come in, he was so 
struck by the music that his entrance had inter- 
rupted that he begged them to go on. His aston- 
ishment and delight were very pleasant to them 
all, but especially to Amy, who dearly loved 
praise, when she knew it was sincere. The up- 
shot of it was that Mr. Reed, the clergyman, 
begged them most earnestly to lend him their 
services at a concert which he was getting up for 
the benefit of his hospital, to take place during 


THE CHILD AMY. 


233 


the Christmas holidays. Of course they all con- 
sented with willingness, and Amy was in a state 
of fluttered delight. She has a strong love for 
the dramatic, and she began at once to invent a 
costume for the occasion, and to review Harry’s 
wardrobe, to see what he had that he could make 
a creditable appearance in. 

Her own dress was a simple matter, and could 
easily be accomplished from the resources in 
hand, and Uncle had more clothes left from his 
days of prosperity than he knew what to do with. 
Harry alone — the chief supporter and worker for 
them all — was lacking in proper clothing to ap- 
pear before an audience, and Amy set her wits 
to work to remedy this. She thought she would 
not speak of it to Uncle, for it would hurt him 
to think how powerless he was to help; but 
she took Miss Melissa into her confidence, and 
they each got their purses and counted out the 
contents on the table. Miss Melissa managed 
the household expenditures, and she had skilfully 
contrived to keep something every week out of 
what Harry gave her to spend, intending to use 


234 


THE CHILD AMY. 


it in some way for him, as he never spent a penny 
on himself. With the same object in view, Amy 
had hoarded every cent of the money which, from 
time to time, it had delighted Harry to give her, 
when he would have some unexpected little wind- 
fall. He often tossed a shining coin into her lap, 
and told her to buy herself some ribbons or pretty 
things, and Amy always took them with delight, 
because she loved to give him the joy of bestow- 
ing gifts of love. 

Now, however, when both she and Miss 
Melissa had counted every cent, there was far too 
little to get Harry the suit of clothes which Amy 
had selected from the catalogue, and anything 
inferior to that she would not have. The concert 
was some weeks off, and they both resolved to go 
to work and make some money. 

“Concert or no concert, Harry must have some 
nice, comfortable, becoming clothes,” said Amy. 
“The idea of his going shabby, when he works 
so hard to give us everything that heart could 
wish.” 

Miss Melissa smiled at this expression, but 



WHEN SHE AND MISS MELISSA HAD COUNTED EVERY CENT, THERE WAS FAR TOO LITTLE. 












THE CHILD AMY. 


237 


it is possible that Amy, in her appreciation of 
Harry’s efforts and success, used it in all 
sincerity. 

After long cogitation, Miss Melissa settled on 
butter as her field of labor, and Amy on nuts. 
The chestnuts were not yet quite gone, and there 
were other nuts now opening in the woods near 
by, and she knew that the man who kept the gro- 
cery shop in the village was buying them. It took 
a great many to bring even as much as the value 
of one of the bright coins which Harry would toss 
to her so lightly, but she did not mind that. 
She was off to her labors before it was time to 
begin work or studies in the morning, and she 
picked and hunted with great industry, and found 
her little pile of earnings growing slowly but 
surely. Another way in which she was able to 
help forward the precious project was to deny 
herself butter, so that Miss Melissa might have 
that much more to sell. The very day that she 
began this, she noticed that Miss Melissa was 
doing the same thing. Neither spoke of it to the 
other, for that would have taken away some of 


238 


THE CHILD AMY, 


the sweetness of the little self-denial which they 
were practising for their hero and darling. 

“The only thing that troubles me,” said Amy, 
“is that Uncle is out of it. I think that will hurt 
him, for he minds being poor more than any of 
us. I am going to tell him, and see if he can’t do 
something too.” 

Uncle responded eagerly. He had some win- 
ter vegetables that he thought he could sell ; 
and when he had successfully accomplished this, 
he did a much more helpful thing still. He sold 
some of his own old clothing which he did not 
need, and brought quite an imposing sum, so 
when the resources from all quarters were 
counted, there proved to be quite enough for the 
cherished purchase ; and Amy, with a great sense 
of importance, sent off the measures and received 
the suit of clothes. 

What delight it was, when they were actually 
in the house, to hear Harry making fun of him- 
self, and saying they would have to pass him off 
for an emigrant minstrel, to account for his 
picturesque shabbiness- — and things like that! 


THE CHILD AMY, 


239 


Amy would chuckle with delight, and hug and 
kiss him, as if she relished the idea more than 
anything she had ever heard. 

The concert was to take place on Christmas 
Eve, in the town hall of the village. It was a 
time of great excitement in everyway; for Miss 
Melissa and Amy had great feats to accomplish 
in the housekeeping line, and everybody was 
absorbed in some special Christmas scheme, kept 
secret from everybody else. 

After supper, which was unusually early, on 
account of the concert, Harry got up and said 
with an air of gravity: 

“ I want to take the advice of the company. 
I’m going to dress for the concert now, and I 
can’t make up my mind whether to prepare 
myself by using soot on my face and hands, and 
scissors on my clothes to make me look the 
picturesque thing in the Italian emigrant line, — 
or soap and water, and needles and thread, and 
take away the picturesqueness, without gaining 
anything. What do you say, Amy?” 

“ I say it’s a wicked slight to Auntie and me to 


240 


THE CHILD AMY. 


suppose that your clothes ever need any needles 
and thread, for you know they don’t; but I don’t 
think we can judge without seeing, so we’ll all go 
up to your room with you, and have an inspection 
of your wardrobe.” 

Harry was a little surprised at this suggestion, 
but he led the way, with a great air of obsequious 
welcome to them. Amy, who had the keenest of 
eyes for everything that touched Harry, saw very 
plainly through this elaborate display of gayety. 
She knew the boy was proud, and felt ashamed of 
his old clothes, so worn and shabby, and that he 
would have long ago withdrawn from the concert 
but that he saw that his proposal to do so made 
her look so disappointed and unhappy that he 
resolved to go, at any cost to himself. 

When they got to Harry’s little room, Amy 
was holding on to his arm, and Auntie and Uncle 
were close behind. The four took up almost all 
the space, and they were still close at his elbow 
when he threw open his closet door, exclaiming: — 
Now for an inspection of his majesty’s court 
costumes ! JVhat ! What in thunder is this ? ” 


THE CHILD AMY, 


241 


“Oh, what is it?” said Amy, innocently. “It 
looks like a brand-new suit that would just fit you 
— but it cant be ! ” 

Harry took down the three pieces, — coat, 
trousers, and waistcoat. Then he looked around 
him, at the three delighted faces, and saw it all! 
He knew that the fountain-head of this perform- 
ance was Amy, and he made a dive at her; but she 
sprang away and flew down the hall, and down 
the stairs, Harry after her. He carried the new 
suit in his arms, and vowed he’d dress her in it, 
and she should wear it to the concert herself, and 
Amy laughed so, as she flew along, that she could 
hardly keep her feet; but he was laughing just as 
much, and was somewhat disabled too. All through 
the yard and around the house he followed her, 
until she darted in again, and flew up the steps to 
her own little room, where she slammed and locked 
the door, and fell panting against it. 

“ Let me in ! ” said Harry, panting too, as he 
shook the door from the outside. 

“Go away!” said Amy, “go and see how hand- 
some and fine you can make yourself look, and 


242 


THE CHILD AMY, 


then come back and I’ll inspect you through the 
key-hole, and make up my mind whether you’re 
fit to be opened to or not.” 

“ I say, Amy, let me in just a moment,” he 
pleaded. 

“What do you want?” 

“ I want to punish you.” 

“ For what ? ” 

“ For the outlay of riches you have made in 
getting me this magnificent paraphernalia.” 

“ Hov/ do you want to punish me?” she 
said. 

As she heard no answer she repeated the 
question. 

“ I am whispering,” he said in a loud, mys- 
terious whisper. “ Put your ear to the key-hole.” 

Amy knelt and put her ear there, smiling, 
and he whispered in a very low tone : 

“ I want to kiss you.” 

She got up then, and opened the door, and he 
took her in his arms, together with the coat and 
trousers and waistcoat, which stuck out fantasti- 
cally in all directions, and held her high above 


THE CHILD AMY. 


243 


him; then lowering her, he kissed her lovingly, 
and set her down. 

“ I won't ask where you got the money,” he 
said, smiling; “I would not offer you that insult. 
The fairies gave it to you, of course. I always 
knew you were related to them, and could get 
them to do what you chose.” 

“ No fairies about it,” said Amy; “we worked 
for it and made the money. Uncle and Auntie 
and I — all except what we have saved from 
what you had given us.” 

Uncle and Auntie were not far off, and Harry 
turned to thank them too, and then went off to 
dress, cautioned by Amy that he would have to 
hurry, as they must, on no account, be late. 

When her own toilet was made, and she 
came down-stairs, half an hour later, Harry was 
dressed and waiting for her. He stood by the 
dining-room table, under the light, reading the 
evening paper ; and his splendid figure and hand- 
some face were so admirably set off by the 
well-fitting suit of dark clothes that Amy looked 
at him with a heart that throbbed with pride. 


244 


THE CHILD AMY. 


She came upon him so quietly that he did not 
hear her until she said : 

“Well, IVe never seen a prince, Harry, but 
I imagine you look exactly like one now.” 

“You’ve never seen a prince!” he said, flush- 
ing with pleasure and pride, as he turned his 
eyes on her. “What a shame! I’ve seen a prin- 
cess!” and before she knew what he was about 
he lifted her bodily and stood her on the table, 
in front of him. 

“Now, princess, you are on your throne,” he 
said. “ May your humblest subject kiss your 
hand?” 

As he took it lightly into his, she threw both 
arms around his neck, and hugged and kissed 
him. 

She was beautiful, indeed, as one’s ideal of a 
little princess, in her fresh white frock, with big 
puffed sleeves, and a scoop at the throat that 
showed her fair flesh becomingly. Her maze of 
golden locks was carefully brushed, and shone 
with a brilliant lustre. Her childish face was 
flushed with health and happiness, and on her 


THE CHILD AMY, 


245 


shoulders and sleeves and about her waist was a 
flutter of rose-colored ribbons, which had been one 
of Harry’s last presents to her. 

She had such a really royal air about her that 
it was no wonder that it occurred to Harry to fall 
on one knee and put the other for her to step on 
in her descent from the table. When he did this 
she was too pleased with the romance of it to 
decline; but after she had made use of the knee 
she brushed off the dust with her handkerchief, 
that nothing might blemish the immaculate 
trousers. 


XV. 

The neighborhood in which Amy and her 
friends were now settled was one of those suburbs 
of a great city where many rich and fashionable 
people made their homes for a part of the year; and 
as many of these were interested in the prosperity 
of this church-work, there was a fine audience 
assembled in the town-hall to hear the concert. 
Amy had made the acquaintance of some of these 
people, at Sunday-school, and had even received 
certain friendly overtures from these children and 
their parents; but she had been quick to recog- 
nize the fact that the invitations which they gave 
her never included or had any reference to the 
other members of the household, and so she had 
invariably declined them, without even consulting 
her elders. She felt, too, that she was on a dif- 
ferent footing, in this congregation, from the one 

246 


THE CHILD AMY. 


247 


she had had in former days; and to have Uncle 
and Auntie and Harry and herself looked upon 
as poor people, to be condescended to, was what 
it was not in Amy’s nature to relish, and although 
she could not prevent an outward recognition of 
their changed condition, she certainly had no 
notion of being patronized by any one. 

When they got to the hall they found that their 
performance, a trio, in which she of course played 
the piano, Harry the violin, and Uncle the flute, 
was the third piece on the programme. They were 
cordially welcomed, by the clergyman, who, how- 
ever, was too busy to attend to them much, and 
the three remained together, a little apart from 
the chattering crowd in the dressing-rooms, and 
waited for their turn to come. Some ladies whom 
Amy had met at church and Sunday-school spoke 
to them kindly; but the child had a sense of being 
looked at, with vulgar curiosity, which was very 
distasteful to her, and she had on, more than ordi- 
narily, her stately and self-possessed little air. 

The first performance was a loud chorus sung 
by a great many voices which had not been trained 


248 


THE CHILD AMY. 


to any special correctness of tune or time, and 
Amy, in her heart, felt it to be rather contemptible. 
The second was a recitation by a very self- 
confident girl, who had carried off the elocution 
prize, in the village school, and considered herself 
quite ready for . success on the dramatic stage. 
Amy peeped through the scenes, and saw and 
heard her, and with concise decision made up her 
mind that it was an exhibition of very false feeling 
and very bad taste. The girl rolled her eyes and 
rolled her r’s, and clasped her hands and smote 
her chest, in a way that made Amy feel ashamed 
that such a thing should be palmed off on an audi- 
ence, as good and intelligent recitation. Altogether 
the entertainment was so little to her taste that 
she felt sorry she had part or lot in it, until she 
remembered what its object was, and that fortified 
her. 

She was feeling, however, very dignified and 
stately as she walked out on the stage, following 
Harry, in whose manly and attractive appearance 
she felt a conscious pride. Uncle, who was the 
only agitated member of the party, was close at 


THE CHILD AMY. 


249 


her side, and, more with a feeling of giving than 
of gaining protection, she slipped her hand into 
his. 

Never had the child looked more charming. 
Her hair had relaxed a little from the discipline 
of her firm brushing, and stood out around her 
head like an aureole of light. Her eyes sparkled, 
her cheeks glowed, until they matched her pink 
ribbons; and her straight, slight figure, in its pretty 
little quaint white gown, was ideally picturesque 
and attractive. Dear old Uncle, who was not 
handsome at best, looked very stiff and serious, 
and somehow made the strongest possible foil 
for her youthful charm and unconsciousness. 

The effect produced upon the audience was 
instantaneous. A sudden and complete hush fell 
upon the chattering assembly at this strange and 
unexpected sight. Amy made the briefest of 
little bows as she walked to the piano and took 
her seat on the stool. She was evidently looked 
up to as director, for both Uncle and Harry 
obeyed promptly the little nods she gave them. 
It was astonishing with what clearness and de- 


250 


THE CHILD AMY, 


cision she struck the sounding chord with which 
the piece began ; and then all three instruments 
in admirable time and tune joined in a charming 
melody, that flowed on with uninterrupted finish 
and correctness to the end. 

The audience was absolutely astonished. 
There were many present who could appreciate 
the rarity and attractiveness of a performance 
like this; and as Amy rose, and the two men 
lowered their instruments, a storm of applause 
burst forth. The child, with only the same brief 
bow which she had given before, put her hand 
in Uncle’s again, and walked quickly and quietly 
off the stage, Harry coming behind with a heart 
that thumped hard with pride and delight in 
her. 

But the applause did not cease. It would 
sink a little, and then rise again with more vigor 
and enthusiasm; and Mr. Reed, in great delight, 
begged them to respond to the encore. Amy 
asked earnestly to be excused, however, and com- 
promised on going back to bow her acknowledg- 
ments. She went out with one hand in Uncle’s 


THE CHILD AMY, 


'251 


and the other in Harry’s; but she didn’t go far, 
and the audience, who were simply bewitched by 
her, got only a tantalizing peep, and the merest 
glim.pse of a charming smile, before she disap- 
peared again. They continued to clap and call ; 
but Amy noticed that Uncle looked a little 
flushed and tired, and she begged Mr. Reed to 
let the next performance go on. There was so 
little enthusiasm for this, however, that Mr. Reed 
came, with an air of real beseeching, to Amy to 
beg her to consent to appear again. He did not 
think of consulting Uncle or Harry, as he saw 
they both referred the whole thing to the child. 
Amy decided that Uncle was too tired to do 
more; and the relief on the old man’s face showed 
that her decision was wise. She added, however, 
that she and Harry could play a duet if Mr. Reed 
would let it come in at the close of the first part, 
so that they might take no one else’s place. 
This was agreed to; and when, at last, they came 
out again, the manager having announced that 
they had consented to do so by special request, 
the audience were carried away with approval and 


252 


THE CHILD AMY, 


delight. It was impossible for any one so sus- 
ceptible and emotional as Amy not to feel the 
magnetic current from them to her, and Harry 
caught it too. They played a very spirited, gay, 
exciting air, getting faster and faster toward 
the climax, Harry’s violin keeping up an even 
race with Amy’s piano notes ; and when it ended, 
not only they, but the audience, had a sort of 
breathless feeling ; and at the last loud, quick, 
staccato notes, when Amy jumped up from the 
piano, and Harry lowered his violin, with a deep- 
drawn breath, they were both smiling with the 
emotion and pleasure of the music, and the audi- 
ence were almost ready to worship them. Amy 
had done her part, however, and she flitted away, 
and went back to the dressing-room, determined 
to ignore the applause which followed her. Her 
sensitive consciousness had taken in the fact that 
her own and Harry’s triumph had not been alto- 
gether pleasing to some of those behind the 
scenes, and she wished now to efface herself, and 
not to stand in the way of others who had some 
claim to recognition too. 


THE CHILD AMY. 


253 


As their part in the performance was now over, 
she hurriedly proposed to Uncle and Harry that 
they should all go down and sit in the audience, 
and be spectators of what followed. So they 
quickly slipped away, and Amy put on her hat 
and cape on the stairs, and they went around to 
the entrance, and found there were still a few seats 
left in the back of the hall; and in another moment 
they had quietly taken possession of three of these 
without being noticed. They found the audience 
engaged in vociferous clapping and whistling and 
calling; but it really did not occur to them what it 
was about, until the manager came out and said 
that, with the best will in the world to oblige them, 
he could not do so, as the performers for whom 
they were calling had disappeared, and he could 
not find them! Then Amy blushed and looked at 
Harry, who grinned and gave her a surreptitious 
pinch, and Uncle uttered a quiet chuckle, which 
Amy suppressed by a frown; and the three sat 
there, very still and quiet, but enjoying in their 
little way the delights of a popular ovation. They 
were very attentive listeners to what followed ; but 


254 


THE CHILD AMY. 


both Amy and Harry laid up a good deal of mate- 
rial for private fun. 

Even before the performance ended a few people 
near by had recognized them, and had pointed them 
out to others ; and as they were going down the 
steps on their way out, a man whom Amy recog- 
nized as the organist of the church ran and over- 
took them, and told the child that Mrs. Herbert 
wanted to speak to her. Even Amy knew who 
Mrs. Herbert was — the great lady of the neigh- 
borhood, whose magnificent house, costumes, and 
equipages were the admiration of the country. 
Amy had often seen her, and had somehow not 
been prepossessed by her or by her children, who 
condescended to attend the Sunday-school with a 
retinue of nurses and governesses who got very 
much in the way and gave a great deal of trouble. 
When, therefore, she received Mrs. Herbert’s 
summons, she did not show the alacrity which 
Mrs. Herbert’s delighted messenger evidently 
expected. 

“ Come,” he said rather urgently, I will take 
you to her.” 


THE CHILD AMY. 


255 


“Thank you,” said Amy quietly, “I will wait 
here to see what she wants,” and she drew a little 
to one side with Uncle and Harry, so as not to be 
in the way of others going out. The man looked 
astonished. 

“ I think you had better go back to where she 
is. She sent me to bring you,” he said. 

“Thank you,” said Amy coolly, “ Td rather wait 
here.” 

The man went back and told Mrs. Herbert that 
the child said she would wait for her at the foot of 
the stairs. The great lady seemed not quite to 
comprehend. She thought there had perhaps been 
some mistake, and she presently went off with 
some friends, and made her way slowly down the 
steps, where Amy stood between Uncle and Harry. 
Drawn up to the pavement was Mrs. Herbert’s 
luxurious landau, which a footman held open. 
Amy stood perfectly still and waited, making no 
motion to advance. The great lady looked at her 
and held out her hand, which Amy took just a 
moment and then dropped. 

“ I wanted to tell you how charmingly you play, 


256 


THE CHILD AMY. 


child,” said Mrs. Herbert, quite ignoring Uncle 
and Harry, as Amy was quick to see, “ and to tell 
you you must come up to-morrow and have your 
Christmas dinner at the Manor, and I’ll find some 
little presents for you.” 

“Thank you,” said Amy with perfect polite- 
ness, “but I would not like to take my Christmas 
dinner away from home.” 

“Oh, really, a very proper feeling!” said Mrs. 
Herbert. “No doubt you are quite right; but you 
must come up during the holidays, and see my 
children, and I won’t forget the presents.” 

“Thank you,” said Amy again; “but as we 
have no carriage, and the weather is bad, it 
would be better for your children to come to 
see me.” 

Mrs. Herbert looked, for once, quite discom- 
posed ; and before she had collected herself to 
reply, Amy had bowed and said good-evening 
with the greatest politeness, and walked away 
with Uncle on one side and Harry on the 
other. 

“Good for you. Baby!” said Harry; “served 


THE CHILD AMY, 


257 


her right for her impudence! Wants to get you 
up there to show you off to her Christmas guests ! 
I know that’s it; but she missed it, didn’t she?” 

“I think so,” said Amy with dignity; “the idea 
of inviting me anywhere without my own family, 
and thinking I would go — and to think any one 
could get me away from home on Christmas 
Day I” 

This little episode left an unpleasant effect on 
her, though she knew she came out of it well. 
There was a consciousness in the child of equal- 
ity with the very highest in breeding and position, 
which caused her to be a good deal put out by 
this attempt at patronage. She saw that Uncle 
and Auntie, and even Harry, could accept a hum- 
ble position in life far better than she could, and 
she felt there was an inborn and ineradicable 
reason for it. She had a feeling of being born 
to the purple which never left her, no matter in 
what lowly way she might employ herself, and 
her interview with Mrs. Herbert had made this 
feeling stronger within her than ever. 

By the time she reached home, however, and 


258 


THE CHILD AMY. 


received the delighted congratulations of Miss 
Melissa, who had gone to the concert with a 
neighbor, the discord of this episode had passed 
away, and she was full of sweet joy in the present 
and bright anticipations of the morrow. 


XVL 

When Christmas morning dawned, there was 
not one of the little household who did not feel 
buoyantly, ardently, gratefully happy, though the 
contrast with other Christmases, so far as worldly 
belongings went, was very great. They all rose 
early, and met around the big wood fire in the 
sitting-room, to give and receive their presents. 
Each of them had three to give, and three to 
receive, and the cleverest surprises had been 
planned. As for Harry’s gifts, they were so 
splendid that Uncle and Auntie both rebuked 
him for extravagance; but he said, “Why shouldn’t 
I ? .1 can afford it;” and Amy said, “Listen to 
that swagger, will you! Let him alone. I love 
it! He’s got something to swagger about.” 

As they were going out to breakfast, Amy ran 
her arm through Uncle’s, and whispered softly, — 

259 


260 


THE CHILD AMY. 


“Which would you rather, Uncle, have your 
money back, or have your boy back?” and poor 
old Uncle answered her with eyes that brimmed 
with happy tears. 

They had a great many jokes at the table. 
Amy and Auntie insisted on helping each other 
frequently to butter, exchanging smiles of de- 
lighted significance; and Harry pinned three 
napkins in front of him, to protect his new 
clothes. Several times during the meal Uncle 
and Auntie looked at each other with a common 
surprise, in the utter joy which they felt in this 
humble little house, where they were face to face 
with poverty and labor, and yet more contented 
than they had ever been before. 

Directly after breakfast Amy had to be off to 
the village, in order to be in time to join the 
Sunday-school in the Christmas chorus which 
they had been practising to sing at the opening 
of the morning service. Harry got his hat to 
walk with her, and the old people were to follow 
a little later. 

It was a cold, clear winter day, and the snow 


THE CHILD AMY, 


261 


was beaten into a splendid road-bed, over which 
sleighs full of merry people skimmed along. 
The sun was shining clearly, and Harry for- 
tunately felt no need of the overcoat he didn’t 
possess as he trudged quickly along by Amy’s 
side, looking handsome, strong, and happy in 
his smart new clothes. His gift to Amy had 
been a charming little dark-blue coat, with a 
fur collar that rested lovingly against her 
shining hair. Amy was ardently fond of pretty 
clothes, and it cannot be denied that this 
Christmas was perceptibly happier with this 
coat than it could possibly have been without 
it. She and Auntie had turned and trimmed 
one of her old be-feathered hats, until it looked 
like new ; and she had that sense of being well 
and appropriately dressed, without which it was 
never possible for Amy to feel quite herself. 

She was certainly feeling her very happiest 
self, and looking her very prettiest self, as she 
reached the Sunday-school room, where she found 
Mr. Reed standing in the door and looking 
anxiously out. As he caught sight of her, he 


262 


THE CHILD AMY, 


came down the steps to meet her, telling her as 
he shook hands, that he had a favor to ask of 
her. Amy was much astonished ; but when he 
explained that the girl who was to have sung 
the solo part in the morning’s music was ill 
and could not come, and asked her if it was 
possible for her to take it, she said at once 
that she could, and would be glad to. He looked 
surprised, but much delighted, at her prompt 
compliance. He had never heard her sing, he 
said, but some one had told him that her voice 
sounded well in the chorus, and he was sure, 
from last night’s performance, that she would be 
correct and true in it, if she undertook it. Amy, 
in fact, had learned the part accurately, from 
hearing it practised, and had sung it dozens of 
times to herself as she went about her work, 
little dreaming what that was the preparation 
for. The church was packed, and there was 
no time to lose. The organist, who was not 
yet quite reconciled to Amy’s treatment of 
Mrs. Herbert, the night before, did not hesitate 
to tell Mr. Reed he was running a great risk 


THE CHILD AMY, 


263 


in giving the child the part, without trying to 
see if she could sing it. 

“ But there is not a moment in which to make 
the test,” the rector said ; “ it is this or nothing, 
and I don’t want to see the whole thing fail.” 

“You need not be afraid, Mr. Reed,” said 
Amy simply ; “ I would not undertake it unless 
I knew I could do it.” 

The child’s manner reassured him so com- 
pletely that he gave the order at once for Amy 
to take the absent child’s position in the choir- 
stalls, and sing the solo part. 

“Well, Baby, it just takes you to do it!” said 
Harry in laughing admiration. “ If they knew 
you as I do, they wouldn’t be uneasy.” 

He left her then, and went around to take 
his seat in the church, while Amy followed Mr. 
Reed, and took the place he pointed her to, 
at the end of the choir-stalls, in full view of the 
congregation. She was not at all excited, be- 
cause she was perfectly sure of herself, and very 
free from the vanity and self-consciousness which 
would have probably unnerved her now. Her 


264 


THE CHILD AMY. 


position was very conspicuous ; and as she knelt, 
as usual, to say her little silent prayer, almost 
every one in the church recognized the child who 
had made the most charming feature of the 
concert the night before. 

Mr. Reed and his assistant came in and took 
their places. The organ rolled forth a great 
sounding note, and the chorus, sung by the 
whole Sunday-school, burst out with hearty notes 
of triumph. They sang their verse to the close, 
and then, after a few notes of interlude, one 
voice, that of Amy, rose high and clear, in a 
sweet, distinct soprano that uttered every word 
as plainly as if speaking. It was too essentially 
a child’s voice to be very full, but it was de- 
liciously clear and sweet and true, and Amy 
looked delicious as she sang it, standing with 
her hands clasped in front of her, and her head 
thrown slightly back, and chin raised, so that 
her eyes rested upon the bright colors of a 
stained glass window. She looked unconscious 
of any human presence. 

As she ended, there was a feeling throughout 


THE CHILD AMY, 


265 


the congregation that would have spent itself in 
rapturous applause, had the place and circum- 
stances authorized it. As it was, a profound 
silence followed her little solo ; and as her sweet 
voice died away the children again took up the 
chorus with which the anthem ended. 

At its close Amy opened her book and joined 
in the service that followed as calmly as usual, 
with no conception in her mind of the wave of 
enthusiasm that her singing and her beauty had 
sent through the congregation. 

Uncle and Auntie and Harry knew it, though; 
and in each of their loving hearts there was such 
a feeling of almost adoring love for her, that they 
could hardly wait to get her in their arms again, 
to make sure that she was really their Amy, and 
belonged to them more than to any one in the 
world. 

They found it harder still to realize, after 
church, when they saw Amy literally surrounded 
by admiring people, old and young, who waited 
at the little choir-door to speak to and congratu- 
late the child. Mr. Reed, with evident pride. 


266 


THE CHILD AMY. 


introduced them ; and Amy smiled and shook 
hands, and looked so bewitching and innocent 
and sweet that people lingered, as if unwilling to 
give up the sight of her. A dear old gentleman, 
whom Amy had often seen in church, wanted her 
to promise to come to his house that afternoon, 
to sing for his wife, who was an invalid. Amy 
agreed at once, but said it must be at an hour 
that would not interfere with something else she 
had to do. It was very important, it seemed, 
for her to be at home at four o’clock. Then the 
old gentleman proposed that she should jump 
into his sleigh, and drive home with him fhen, 
saying the distance was not far, and it would be 
such a delightful surprise for his wife. Amy 
looked uncertain; and, as she hesitated, her eye 
fell on Harry, who was waiting to take her 
home. She called him to her, and stated the 
case; and when Mr. Ward, the old gentleman, 
urged Harry to come with her, promising that 
they should be horhe by their dinner hour, she 
agreed with delight; and in a few minutes more 
they were whizzing along the smooth snow- 


THE CHILD AMY. 


267 


covered road, while Amy, tucked under luxurious 
fur robes, which her soul as well as her body 
found comfort in, talked busily to Mr. Ward, 
and Harry, sitting in front by the coachman, 
listened, and looked on with pride at the evident 
delight which the old man found in her talk. He 
questioned her about the important engagement 
at four o’clock; and then Amy told him about her 
little Sunday-school, composed of children so poor 
and so timid that they were too shy to go to the 
church Sunday-school, but loved to come and sing 
with her, and hear her Bible stories. She explained 
that the number had now grown to ten, and that 
they were all to come to a little Christmas-tree 
this afternoon, on which she had placed some 
little present for each, made by herself; and Uncle 
and Auntie and Harry were to give them a 
Christmas treat of good things. 

Mr. Ward’s house was not far off ; and when 
he had ushered them into the finely furnished 
rooms, and led them to where his sweet old wife 
sat in her invalid’s chair before the fire, the air 
of stately repose and elegance of the whole 


268 


THE CHILD AMY. 


establishment made poor little sybaritish Amy 
feel so at home, and so comfortable and happy, 
that it gave her a pang to think that she had 
neither part nor lot in such things now. When 
she had sung for Mrs. Ward, however, and the 

dear old lady had kissed and thanked her, and 

her husband had told her about the Sunday- 
school, and she had asked a great many questions 
about it, and promised to help the poor children, 
Amy had forgotten all about this feeling, and 
had no room in her soul for anything but joy. 

Mr. and Mrs. Ward were as cordial and nice to 

Harry as they were to her; and they would not 
let them go until they had promised to come 
back and see them often. Mr. Ward said he 
would come to see Uncle, and would try to get 
Auntie to come to see his wife; and so Amy felt 
that there was nothing needed to make her 
feel supremely happy. 

If there had been any lack, it was filled to the 
brim by what she discovered when she went out 
to the sleigh; for there, in the care of the driver, 
was a great iced cake, and a whole basket of other 


THE CHILD AMY, 


269 


good things which Mrs. Ward had sent to be 
added to the children’s treat. Mr. Ward came out 
with them, and explained about this, and then 
said he also had his contribution to make; and he 
counted into Amy’s palm ten big, bright, round, 
silver dollars — one for each of the children. 

This was too much for Amy. Her sweet eyes 
filled with tears of joy, and, dropping the money 
into her lap, she threw her arms around the old 
man’s neck, and gave him a hearty hug. He had 
neither children nor grandchildren of his own, 
and this little act of childish love touched his 
heart so closely that tears came into his eyes too; 
and Amy left him blowing his nose and wiping 
his spectacles on the steps, as she and Harry 
were rapidly whirled away. 

Perhaps that was the sweetest moment of all, 
when she found herself spinning along in the 
warm, comfortable sleigh, alone with her darling 
boy, whom she had been separated from for 
hours by these strange and exciting events that 
had been happening. 

As she slipped her hand confidingly into 


270 


THE CHILD AMY, 


his, which closed upon it lovingly, she said 
gently, — 

“Are you happy, Harry?” 

“Are you?” he said. 

“I am if you are.” 

“ And I am if you are.” 

Then they both laughed, and said at once, — 

“ Then we both are ! ” 

Harry, at times, had a certain feeling that 
this bright and beautiful creature was almost 
too fine and perfect for ordinary things and or- 
dinary doings; and to-day, when he had seen her 
the soul and centre of so much that was apart 
from him, he felt a little sore about it, and 
needed the strong reassurance of her love for 
him. So he said now, almost wistfully, — 

“ What makes you happier than anything 
else? Could you tell?” 

“Could I tell?” she answered half indig- 
nantly; “well, I should think I could! The 
thought that I belong to you ! ” 

This was such complete and perfect comfort 
that he felt everything but happiness banished 


THE CHILD AMY. 


271 


from his heart; and when the jolly Christmas 
dinner had been eaten with dear old Uncle and 
Auntie, and the Sunday-school children had been 
feasted royally and given their splendid presents, 
and he and Amy were reflecting on the events 
and feelings of this day, each delighted the 
other by pronouncing it the happiest of their 
lives. 


XVII. 

A YEAR had passed in the new home, and 
springtime was come again. The seeds sown 
on their arrival at the barren little spot had 
borne good fruit ; and now, as the leaves came 
out on trees and vines and bushes, and the gar- 
den-beds began to show luxuriant foliage, the 
place, although it was humble and unpretentious, 
was very charming. Harry had had an increase 
of salary, and he had put up a picturesque porch, 
and put on some paint judiciously. There was 
altogether an air of care and taste and good man- 
agement about it that made it very attractive to 
see. 

Amy was now in her thirteenth year, and 
more bewitching than ever, with her little airs 
of stateliness, which sat well upon a maiden 
who was growing up so slim and tall. She 


2Y2 


THE CHILD AMY. 


27S 


paid no attention at all to the fashions, and 
continued to dress herself in her own simple 
style, with her plain, long, little gowns, with 
their short waists and puffed sleeves. She 
had blue flannel ones for winter, and white cot- 
ton ones for summer, and that was enough. 
Once or twice Harry had taken her to the city, 
on some little lark that thrilled them both with 
happiness; and he could see that her appearance 
caused comment. He listened carefully, to hear 
what might be said about her; but the most 
severe remark he caught was that of a lady 
who, glancing first at her costume and then at 
her face, said earnestly, — 

''What a queer-looking child! — and how ut- 
terly fascinating 1 

Amy herself was joyfully unconscious of be- 
ing noticed at all, as she considered Harry to 
be so supremely handsome and charming, that 
any looks directed toward the pair, she at once 
set down as admiration for him. He was indeed 
as bonny a lad as ever a little maid took pride 
in. Amy was getting into the romantic age, 


274 


THE CHILD AMY, 


and she identified every prince in the fairy-tale 
that she read, and every brave and splendid 
boy and man, with Harry as he had been, was, 
or was to be. If she ever heard him utter a 
word, or saw him do an act, which fell short of 
her ideal of him, her severest reproof was : 
“That is not like my boy;” and it proved an 
always effectual means of bringing him to his 
senses. It was rather a rough world that Harry 
lived in, among porters and draymen and sea- 
faring men ; and it was a help beyond words to 
him, to carry about in his consciousness that 
sweet image of childish innocence and purity, 
whose belief in his goodness was of the absolute 
and unquestioning character of her belief in the 
goodness of God. Harry could imagine no worse 
punishment in this world, than to have the eyes 
of Amy turned upon him with disappointment 
and scorn ; and he struggled hard against an^ 
influences about him which might tend to make 
this possible. The result was a rectitude of 
conduct, far removed from priggishness, — for 
his superabundant vitality and love of fun and 


THE CHILD AMY. 


27o 


good-fellowship saved him from that, — but so 
resolute and unswerving, that his example was 
unconsciously a help and an incentive to those 
about him. 

Occasionally he would bring one of his friends 
home with him for a day or a night, and then 
it was funny to see the stateliness of Amy in 
doing honor to Harry’s guests. She never 
failed, for all her dignity, to make friends with 
these; for she had Harry’s own love of good- 
comradeship, and she entered into their jokes 
and amusements to a degree uncommon in a 
girl. Harry was now twenty-one, and a man in 
size and stature ; but he had a great deal of the 
boy in him that he would never lose, and was, 
in some ways, younger than his years, just as 
Amy was, in so much, beyond hers. 

During Harry’s summer vacation he always 
found a great deal to occupy himself with about 
the place; and, when it was possible, Amy would 
always bring her work and carry it on near him, 
so that, from time to time, they could talk a little, 
and not miss the pleasure of a companionship 


276 


THE CHILD AMY, 


which was so dear to each that they never got 
enough of it. 

On one lovely afternoon of early summer-time, 
Harry, in his shirt-sleeves, was busily employed 
in putting up a lattice-work at the little side 
porch, where Amy, in her long, checked gingham 
apron, was churning. One of Harry’s recent 
purchases had been a fine cow, of which the 
entire household was duly proud; and it was 
Amy’s delight to make the butter. The lattice- 
work screen, over which vines were to be trained 
in the future, was but half completed; and so Amy 
sat in full view, working her dasher vigorously, 
while Harry hammered away, when suddenly a 
carriage stopped outside the little gateway and a 
lady and gentleman got out. There had been so 
much noise that the sound of the wheels had been 
lost; and Harry and Amy knew nothing, until they 
saw the two strangers standing on the ground, 
talking to the man who had driven them. Then 
the hammer stopped in mid-air, in the boy’s hand, 
and Amy too became quite still, with heritUnd on 
the dasher. They could hear the brief sentences 


THE CHILD AMY, 


277 


addressed by the strangers to their driver; and 
something in their enunciation and tones sounded 
familiar to them both. Harry recognized in them 
a certain similarity to the inflections and pronun- 
ciations of Amy’s voice; and Amy herself seemed 
possessed with strange hauntings of the far 
distant past, as she listened. 

They were fashionably dressed people, and the 
lady, who was in a smart travelling costume, put 
up an eye-glass with a long tortoise-shell handle, 
and stared scrutinizingly at the child at the 
churn, as she preceded her husband up the 
walk. 

When they had mounted the steps of the front 
porch, and were therefore lost to sight, Harry 
and Amy looked at each other, the same agitated 
fear in the eyes of each. 

At that moment a sharp knock upon the 
front door was heard. At the sound. Miss 
Melissa, who was making currant jelly in the 
kitchen, moved forward to answer it, while 
Harry and Amy still stood spell-bound. They 
could hear Miss Melissa inviting the strangers 


278 


THE CHILD AMY. 


into the little parlor, and after that the low 
murmur of voices. 

“O Baby!” said Harry, with a sort of sob 
in his voice, “ suppose they have come to take 
you away ! ” 

With a little rush, she was in his arms, her 
hands tight around his neck. 

“ I’d like to see them try it ! ” she said in- 
dignantly. “ Harry, do you think I’d leave you 
for any one in the world ? ” and she drew back 
to look into his eyes. 

“ Promise me, darling,” he said, in that shaken 
voice; his face was white to the very lips. “Only 
promise me that, and I’ll be satisfied.” 

“ I promise,” she said solemnly, and kissed 
him on the forehead before she drew herself out 
of his arms. 

Miss Melissa now appeared, flushed and agi- 
tated too. 

“O Amy,” she said, “something has happened. 
Somebody wants to see you — a gentleman and 
lady. They are English people, darling, and I’m 
so afraid they may be” — 


THE CHILD AMY, 


279 


She broke off helplessly. 

“ I know, Auntie; I have seen them,” said the 
child, feeling herself suddenly strong and self- 
reliant ; “ you needn’t be afraid. I would not 
leave Harry and Uncle and you for all the 
people in the world. Let me go and see them.” 

“ But you must dress yourself, my dear. 
They are very grand people, and it’s bad enough 
that they caught me like this.” 

No,” said the child proudly, holding high 
her little head, atop of which her golden curls 
were pinned up in a bunch, for the sake of 
coolness; “why should I dress for them? I 
want them to see me exactly as I am. Come 
with me. Auntie and Harry; I’m sorry Uncle is 
not here,” and leading the way with her own 
stately grace, she walked down the hall and 
entered the little parlor, which somehow seemed 
to shrink as she saw these imposing people in it. 

Just within the threshold she stood still, 
and bowed ceremoniously. 

“ Good-afternoon,” she said with quiet compo- 
sure, and .then stood as if waiting. 


280 


THE CHILD AMY. 


The lady lifted her glass, and regarded her 
with a keen interest. She smiled, as if uncon- 
sciously, as she returned the greeting. The 
eyes of both the strangers were riveted on the 
child. They took no notice whatever of Miss 
Melissa and Harry. The boy had drawn on 
a faded old coat, and, with his rough shoes, 
shabby working trousers, and tousled hair, 
looked, in spite of his beauty, like any ordinary 
young workman. He followed Miss Melissa’s 
lead and sat down. The child alone remained 
standing. 

“We should like,” began the lady in a deep 
and pleasant voice, though there was a tone of 
haughtiness in it, “if you do not object — we 
should like to see you alone.” 

“Why?” said the child distinctly, and stood 
waiting deliberately for a reply. 

“ Because,” said the lady, a little disconcerted 
by this direct demand for reasons, “ because my 
husband and I have something to say to you in 
private.” 

“You can say it now,” replied the child; “I 


THE CHILD AMY. 


281 


don’t have any secrets from this lady and this 
young man. I should tell them whatever it is you 
have to tell me.” 

“Oh, very well,” said the gentleman, glancing 
at his wife ; “ let them stay, by all means. What 
we want to know is your name.” 

“ Why? ” said the child again. 

The man laughed as if involuntarily ; but Amy 
retained her perfect gravity, standing very erect, 
and looking amusingly stately in her long checked 
apron, with her top-knot of bright curls. 

“ Because,” said the lady, taking up the word, 
“we think it possible that we may have something 
to tell you that it will be very much to your ad- 
vantage to know.” 

“In what way? ” asked the child. 

“ I will tell you when you have given me your 
name — unless you prefer not to do that.”* 

“My name is Amy Erskine Leigh,” said the 
child distinctly. 

“ So we had heard,” said the lady ; “ and we 
have come all the way from England in search of 
a little girl of that name.” 


282 


THE CHILD AMY, 


“Well?” said the child, without showing the 
surprise that had been expected. 

“ If you can prove your right to that name, you 
are my little niece; and,^as I have no children of 
my own, perhaps I might adopt you and take you 
back to England to live with me, and be brought 
up as my child.” 

Poor Auntie at these words took out her 
handkerchief, and began to wipe away the tears 
that overflowed her eyes. Harry, who sat on a 
hard wooden chair just within the door, was white 
and rigid as a statue, with his gaze fixed on Amy’s 
face. 

“Are you my father’s sister? ” said the child. 

“ If you are the child of George Erskine Leigh, 
I am,” replied the lady. 

“ Are you older than he was ?” asked the child, 
looking ‘at her with a severe scrutiny. 

“Yes; a year or two.” 

“I never heard him speak of you,” she said, 
still with that searching gaze. 

The lady flushed. 

“Perhaps you have forgotten,” she said ; “but 


THE CHILD AMY. 


283 


the fact is, your father displeased his family, and 
wilfully cut himself loose from them. Still, I am 
willing to forget all that, and if you can prove 
yourself really his child, I will take you and adopt 
you as my own.” 

Amy turned to Miss Melissa. 

Will you show this lady the things you have 
kept,” she said quietly. 

There was complete silence in the room, while 
Miss Melissa got up and went to an old-fashioned 
secretary, and taking out with trembling hands 
the little garments that Amy had worn when she 
first came to them, offered them for inspection. 
The lady and gentleman took them eagerly, and 
examined the marks on them, one after the other. 
Everything they touched gave stronger and 
stronger proof, and the little pin, with its crest 
and initials, made the thing a certainty. 

“ You are my own little niece,” said the lady, 
with sudden enthusiasm. '' How wonderful it all 
is ! I will tell you all about the strange way in 
which the paper, five years old, fell into our hands, 
and caused us to set off at once in search of the 


284 


THE CHILD AMY, 


little girl who had been rescued from the lost ves- 
sel.” At these words a sound something like a 
sob broke from Harry. “Your uncle has been as 
anxious as I to find you,” the lady went on, “ and 
we will make you so happy in our home, — a beau- 
tiful, splendid place, with a magnificent park and a 
superb old house, which will all some day be yours, 
for we have no child of our own to leave it to. 
And wedl give you everything on earth you want, 
a pony-cart to drive about in, with your own little 
groom, and all the beautiful clothes and books and 
pictures you could wish for — indeed, everything 
to make a child’s heart happy.” 

She spoke with great eagerness, as if she 
were in a hurry to impress the child with the 
magnificence of the lot that had suddenly fallen 
to her. She would have liked to take her in her 
arms and caress her, but, strange to say, there was 
something in the small creature’s attitude and 
manner which held her off. 

“ We are going to call you by our name, so 
you will be Amy Erskine Leigh Waring,” the 
lady went on; “and your uncle and I will make 


THE CHILD AMY. 


285 


you as happy as a little princess. We made up 
our minds that, if we found you, we would do the 
utmost in our power for you. Your grandfather 
disinherited your father, and that made me a 
great deal richer, and I shall leave all I have to 
you.’' 

Amy, though attentive to her conversation 
with the stranger, had yet been distinctly con- 
scious of all that had taken place around her. 
She had heard the gate-latch open, and seen Miss 
Melissa slip silently out of the room, and go to 
meet her brother. There had been a hurried col- 
loquy in the hall, and then the two old people 
had come into the room together, and dropped 
into their seats. She had seen the half-frightened 
gesture with which the poor old man, in his 
shabby working-clothes, had taken off his bent 
straw hat, and made a confused bow to the stran- 
gers, which had been negligently returned. Then 
she had seen both the old man and the old woman 
turn their helpless gazes upon Harry, who, white 
and immovable, never took his eyes from Amy’s 
face. But she appeared to ignore all, and the 


286 


THE CHILD AMY. 


three spectators, as they sat in silence, began to 
wonder with a sort of terror what she would do. 

“ We shall have a great deal to talk about, my 
dear,” said the lady ingratiatingly, “ and I should 
be glad if you could make your arrangements to 
go back with us to New York this evening. I 
am anxious to hear all about the strange story of 
your rescue, and of course we shall wish to pay 
liberally these good people who have taken care 
of you all this time.” 

She glanced slightly at the trio seated near 
the door as she spoke. 

“ If you wish to hear the story of my rescue,” 
said the child, ‘‘ I will tell it to you now. I can 
remember it very distinctly. I remember even 
farther back than that, when my papa and mamma 
were often sad and solitary, and in need of money. 
She was very delicate, my darling mamma, and 
her beautiful face was often white and pale. My 
papa used to wish he could take her away from 
the hot city, and be very sad that he had not the 
money to do it; and he left his country at last, 
and started to a new, strange world, because he 


THE CHILD AMY. 


287 


could not make a living for his wife and child in 
the way his wife needed to live, with her delicate 
health. I remember all that; and I remember, too, 
how they loved each other, and how I used to 
hear them say that love was worth everything 
else in the world. I don’t remember, though, any 
letters that ever came to my papa that brought 
him either love or help, and I never heard him 
speak of the sympathy of any dear sister in his 
troubles. I remember they both had tears in their 
eyes when the ship was leaving England, and that 
my papa said over and over, that it broke his 
heart to come, but it was a matter of life and 
death. I have often thought how strange it was 
that he should have said those words; for it was 
death to them both so soon after. And so it 
would have been for me, too, but for a boy who 
had never heard of me, but saw, one night after a 
storm, a little child adrift at sea, lashed to a mat- 
tress, and jumped into a boat, and risked his life 
on that dangerous water, with the high waves 
tossing his little boat about like a chip, and saved 
that little child, and took care of her, and worked 


288 


THE CHILD AMY, 


day and night to make money for her, that she 
might have everything in the world that any child 
could need, and brought her to a kind old man 
and woman, who have loved her like their own 
flesh and blood ever since, and have given her all 
these years nothing but love and kindness and 
care and tenderness and devotion. I owe my life 
to that boy, and I will never leave him ; and I owe 
to him and to this old man and woman debts that 
money can never pay. I would not leave this 
house, and live a life apart from them, to be a real 
princess, and to have the prospect of sitting on a 
throne. You don’t seem to have noticed these 
friends of mine,” she ended, turning toward the 
three astonished figures near the door. “ This is 
my guardian and best friend, who saved my life, 
and shall say what shall be done with it for the 
present and the future; and these are the dear old 
people who have taken care of me all these years. 
Perhaps you have not spoken to them because 
you were waiting to be introduced. Let me in- 
troduce my uncle and aunt to you, Mr. and Mrs. 
Waring,” and, stepping backward, she gave a hand 


THE CHILD AMY, 


289 


to each of the old people, and gently drew them 
to their feet, while on Harry she turned the ra- 
diance of her lovely face, with a smile of happy 
confidence and reassurance. 

The old people bowed confusedly, in ac- 
knowledgment of this formal introduction ; and 
Mr. and Mrs. Waring, perhaps to their own 
surprise, found themselves advancing to shake 
hands. They were both evidently startled out 
of their usual self-possession; and after shaking 
the hands of the old people, they turned to 
Harry. Laying aside the stiff, conventional man- 
ner which had distinguished them before, they 
both spoke to the boy heartily, and with some 
enthusiasm, about his rescue of the child. His re- 
sponse to their cordiality was, at first, extremely 
stiff and cold ; but Amy got behind him and man- 
aged to whisper, — 

“ Q Harry, that isn’t like my boy ! ” and in a 
moment he changed. Then Uncle and Auntie, 
too, finding that there was no danger of their 
treasure being taken from them, felt a great 
softening of the heart toward these poor people 


290 


THE CHILD AMY. 


who were forced to give up such a joy from their 
lives, and they spoke to them with a winning 
courtesy that soon had the effect of putting 
every one at ease. 

It was Amy’s idea to invite them to a little 
luncheon before they went back to the station 
to take the train for New York; and when she 
found out that they both liked buttermilk, she 
took them out on the porch, where her butter had 
been just about to “come” when she was inter- 
rupted, and let them see her next process of col- 
lecting it. Then she remembered the wish that 
had been expressed by her new relatives to see 
her alone, and, leaving Miss Melissa to lay the 
table, she went back with them to the parlor, 
where the three had a long talk. The most 
earnest arguments were employed, and most fas- 
cinating inducements were held out; but it very 
soon became certain that the child’s resolve to 
remain with her humble friends was fixed and 
immovable. Seeing this, her new-found rela- 
tives gave up their case, only begging that Amy 
would promise to come to England to visit them. 



SHE FOUND OUT THAT THEY BOTH LIKED BUTTERMILK. 









THE CHILD AMY. 


293 


They first proposed to take her back with them 
now; but this she decidedly refused, and the ut- 
most they could secure for the present was a 
promise to come to New York, under Harry’s 
care, and stay with them a few days before their 
return to England. She was won over to make 
all possible concessions by the confession of her 
aunt that she had bitterly repented her hardness 
to her young brother, and had never recovered' 
from the blow his death had given her. Her father, 
too, she told the child, had realized his severity 
when it was too late, and had grieved for his 
son deeply, not surviving him long. 

“ He would have made a rich provision for 
you in his will, my child, if he had dreamed of 
your being alive,” she said. '‘That is one reason 
I feel myself all the more bound to provide for 
you, and to see that you want for nothing.” 

“ I shall never want while Harry lives,’' said 
Amy confidently, “ and he is young and strong. 
But they, the dear old man and woman, are 
getting feeble now, and I have not a great 
while left to work for them, and to try to do 


294 


THE CHILD AMY. 


for their helplessness what they did for me in 
mine.” 

“ And when they die, my child, you will have 
to cpme to us,” her aunt said entreatingly ; '‘you 
will promise that, at least.” 

“ I shall do what Harry tells me,” said the 
child; “ he will know what will be right.” 

As she spoke, her dear boy entered, saying that 
Miss Melissa wanted her. He had dressed care- 
fully, and how proud she was to see him look such 
a man and such a gentleman at once ! She had 
never thought his dear face so handsome before, 
or his dear figure so straight and strong. She 
could see a look of admiration on the faces of her 
relatives as she left the room confident that when 
they talked to Harry they would find, in the intel- 
ligence and character he revealed, a worthy com- 
plement to his brave and bonny looks. 

Miss Melissa, too, had dressed herself neatly 
in her quaint, old-fashioned black, with a snowy 
cap above her white hair; and Uncle looked such 
an old darling in the toilet he had made in honor 
of his guests, that Amy gave him a hug of pride. 


THE CHILD AMY, 


295 


and vowed she must go and make a toilet too. It 
was what Auntie had summoned her for, and it 
took her only a very few moments to fly away to 
her room and dash the fresh, cool water over, her 
face, which gave it a sweet, bright color, and then 
comb out the glory of her golden locks, and slip on 
one of her quaint little white gowns. When she 
came down so metamorphosed, and entered the 
parlor, the elders exchanged glances of delighted 
admiration, as they looked up from their interested 
talk with Harry; and this was only deepened and 
sweetened when she came and offered them each 
a kiss, saying simply, — 

“Come out to the dining-room please. Uncle 
Jack and Aunt Flora.” 

She had caught the names they called each 
other by, and of her own accord made use of them. 
They were both evidently touched by it. 

When the party was gathered around the little 
table, with its snowy cloth and beautiful decoration 
of fruits and flowers from the garden near by, 
Amy, according to her invariable custom, bent her 
head and said her little form of thanksgiving. 


296 


THE CHILD AMY. 


When she looked up the eyes of her aunt, turned 
on her, were thick with tears. 

“Your father taught you that, I know,’' she 
said. “ How wonderful it seems ! They are the 
very words I used to say as a child at my father’s 
table. I was back there again, with George beside 
me, as you said them.” 

This little act seemed to set the final seal of 
love and confidence between the new-comers and 
the little child. 

It was very delightful to Amy to sit by and 
watch the development of the acquaintance be- 
tween the uncle and aunt who were hers by the 
tie of blood, and the uncle and aunt whom she 
acknowledged by what she felt to be a stronger 
bond, — the likeness and congeniality and same- 
ness of interest and environment. She and Harry 
took but little part in the conversation ; but they 
sat next each other, and occasionally exchanged 
a furtive hand-squeeze under the table, and were 
exceedingly happy. 

The child’s quick intuition detected a con- 
cealed surprise on the part of the two guests as 


THE CHILD AMY, 


297 


they made the discovery that their host and host- 
ess were people of education and refinement, and 
not the rough laboring-folk that they had at first 
taken them to be. 

Mrs. Waring expressed this surprise to Amy 
as the child was left alone with her aunt and 
uncle in the garden after the meal, and made 
many apologies for the manner in which she had 
treated them at first. Amy explained to her then 
the old man’s sudden loss of fortune, and told 
the story of the five thousand dollars with which 
Harry had come to the rescue, omitting, however, 
all mention of the estrangement that had once 
existed between the two, as that seemed a fact 
now too unreal ever to be spoken or thought of. 
She was very glad that her relatives by blood 
should have been made to recognize the intelli- 
gence and refinement, as well as the worth, of her 
relatives by spirit and by adoption. Amy made 
a very decided inward comment upon her aunt’s 
apology. It seemed strange, to her way of think- 
ing, that she should have felt that she owed more 
courtesy and consideration to the rescuer and the 


298 


THE CHILD AMY, 


befrienders of her niece when she saw them well 
dressed, and discovered that they were people 
of education and good-breeding, than when she 
believed them common working-people who had 
done precisely the same thing. She knew her old 
Uncle and Auntie would never have made this 
distinction ; and while the intimacy and friend- 
liness between the child and her new-found 
relatives increased every minute, there was a 
feeling that she was more of a kind with Uncle 
and Auntie and Harry than with these blood- 
relations. 

When the time came for them to go to the 
station, Amy put on her great white Gainsborough 
hat, which had been one of Harry’s rather extrav- 
agant presents to her, and, accompanied by the 
boy, went with them to the train. The Eng- 
lishman and his wife looked back with longing 
eyes as the train moved off, and they realized that 
that exquisite little creature who sat in the dusty 
old carriage with the air of a little duchess could 
never be theirs by any claim which they could 
make. Even if they could have wrenched her 


THE CHILD AMY, 


299 


away by force, they knew too well where her loyal 
heart was fixed. 

As for Harry, as they drove homeward in un- 
wonted style, sitting alone in the big and blunder- 
ing old carriage, the boy looked grave. In spite 
of the satisfaction in his heart at the decision 
which the child had compelled her uncle and 
aunt to concur in, he felt a little afraid that he 
ought not to have allowed the sacrifice. 

“You have given up a great deal to stay 
with us,” he said; “I hope you may never re- 
gret it.” 

“Are you afraid I will?” asked the child, fix- 
ing on him one of her old-time gazes of severe 
challenge and arraignment. “ If you are, you 
have a very low opinion of me.” 

“But you are a child now, darling, and 
when you grow up, you may see very differ- 
ently the advantages they have to offer you.” 

“ Do you suppose I’m going to get meaner and 
lower and smaller',' hurling the words at him, in 
her old emphatic way, “as I get older? I know 
better. I know that the longer I live the more I 


300 


THE CHILD AMY, 


will feel that it was the true and really valuable 
riches that I held on to.” 

The boy looked at her with an ardent pride. 

Amy,” he said tenderly, ‘‘ have you ever 
thought of what would become of you if Uncle 
and Auntie should die? ” 

“Of course I have,” replied the child promptly; 
“ IVe thought about it often, and, sad as it would 
seem, I would always feel that if Harry was left 
I would still be loved and taken care of.” 

“But — for we must face the whole thing 
bravely — what would become of you if I died 
too ? ” 

“O Harry!” she cried, half sobbingly, throw- 
ing her arms around his neck, as they drove home- 
ward in the gloom of twilight, “ I can never bring 
myself to think of that. It seems to me I could 
never bear this world without you.” 

“ Please God, you never shall,” the boy an- 
swered solemnly, folding her close in his arms. 
“ I promise you, Amy, that as long as life lasts I 
will never leave your side, provided you want to 
keep me there.” 


THE CHILD 'AMY, 


301 


“ And I promise you, Harry,” she answered, 
drawing back and looking into his eyes with the 
strong faith of a woman in her gaze, “ that no one 
else shall ever be loved by me as I love you — 
as I’ve loved you, above all the world, since the 
night you saved my life. As long as you are left 
to me I’m rich enough. I don’t ask any more.” 

They drove home, after that, in total silence, 
hand in hand, thinking very tender and loving 
thoughts, under the quiet stars, that came out, one 
by one. The love that she so pledged to him was 
deep and strong and true, beyond the knowledge 
of ordinary childhood ; but Amy’s grave experience 
of life had developed her very early, and she knew 
in her heart that she was capable of keeping her 
pledge inviolate till death. And Harry, who was 
already a man in stature, though in many ways 
he continued a child in heart, felt also the solem- 
nity of the promises they had given to each other; 
and, looking along the vista of the future, he saw 
the love that had blessed and purified his boy- 
hood shedding its glory on his manhood’s years. 

They reached home happy and contented. 


302 


THE CHILD AMY, 


The old folks were on the porch to meet them ; 
and as they clasped the child to their hearts 
they felt her to be theirs now by a stronger 
bond than ever. 

She stood in the centre of the little group, 
looking lovingly from one face to another. She 
was the smallest and the youngest of them, but 
it was in her that all their hearts were cen- 
tred — the child Amy, the very meaning of 
whose little name is Love. 








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